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Copyright , igoj 
By Dana Estes & Company 


All rights reserved 

Transfer from 
u. S. Soldier’s Home Uby* 

Oct.28.l931 



ON TOWER ISLAND 



Electrotyped and Printed by The S parr ell Print 
Boston, Mass., U. S. A. 




to 


Contents 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I. A Policy and a Yacht n 

II. An Encounter with the “Sea Rover” . . 17 

III. A Midnight Mystery 27 

IV. Cal and Sum Rise to an Emergency . . 41 

V. The Mysterious Overcoat .... 48 

VI. The Major calls for His Overcoat, and 

Sumner has a Misadventure ... 62 

VII. The “Sea Rover” reports Bad News . . 70 

VIII. Sumner encounters Adventures ... 78 

IX. Sumner begins an Involuntary Cruise . . 87 

X. Sumner sends a Message Home ... 99 

XI. Sumner makes His Debut in Codville . . 109 

XII. Val and Cal take Possession of the “ Sea 

Rover’s” Wheel-house . . . .119 

XIII. Major Bangs appears in a Villainous 

Character 128 

XIV. Bangs makes a Proposition .... 136 

XV. Val and Cal Disagree 142 

XVI. “Fire ” on the “Sea Rover” . . . .149 

XVII. Val goes Ashore 156 

XVIII. An Old Enemy Reappears . . . .163 

XIX. Val and the Major try Conclusions . . 169 

XX. Val leaves His Perch 179 

XXI. Val opens a Commissary Department . . 187 

XXII. A Chase and the Result . . . .202 

XXIII. Forcing the Issue 213 

XXIV. Cal discovers the Secret of the Expedition . 225 


v 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 



PAGE 

XXV. 

Up goes the Jolly Roger 

. 

241 

XXVI. 

Bangs scores a Point .... 


248 

XXVII. 

Val finds Cal and encounters a Lunatic 


255 

XXVIII. 

Val loses the Tender .... 


269 

XXIX. 

Regarding a Brick Wall and a Ladder . 


275 

XXX. 

A Curious Document .... 


282 

XXXI. 

The Deck Hand Repents 


295 

XXXII. 

The Engineer takes the Wheel 


3°6 

XXXIII. 

On the Search 


3 12 

XXXIV. 

In Hot Haste after Jones 


324 

XXXV. 

An Attempt at Recapture 


338 

XXXVI. 

A Hunt for Treasure .... 


354 

XXXVII. 

An Unwelcome Visitor .... 


3 6 4 

XXXVIII. 

The Beginning of the End 


37i 

XXXIX. 

The “Storm King” encounters the “Sprite” 

. 

380 


List of Illustrations 

PAGE 

“ ‘ Here, where are you going with that 

boat?’” (See page 110 ) . . . Frontispiece 

“With a cry of alarm Cal sprang to his place, 

AND TRIED TO BRING THE ‘MOLLY MOOK ’ INTO 

THE WIND ” 47 

“‘Well, you can take him right straight back 

AGAIN ’ ” . . . . . . . 51 

“‘Follow me, now,’ muttered Val, ‘we’ll see 

first who’s at the wheel ! ’” . . . 123 

“‘You BIG RUFFIAN,’ IIE SHOUTED, ‘ I’LL SEE YOU 

HANGED FIRST ’ ” 137 

“‘GO BACK,’ WARNED Val” 212 

“‘NOW, UP WITH YOUR HANDS,’ COMMANDED VAL ” 217 

“ ‘ I’ve got you, the whole crowd of you. By 

JING, THIS IS MY INNINGS ! ’ ” . . . 365 


Tower Island 



On Tower Island 


CHAPTER I 

A POLICY AND A YACHT 

It was, after all, through a singular circumstance 
that Val Brandon bought the sloop-yacht “ Spitfire, ” 
for any life insurance agent will tell you that it is 
scarcely once in a lifetime a man walks into his 
office asking to be insured for a hundred thousand 
dollars. 

One day in January a man, portly of build and 
well dressed, entered the office of the Liberty Mutual 
Insurance Company’s State agency at Stroudport. 
It being the noon hour, the cashier, who occupied 
the front office, was at dinner. His quarters were 
for the time deserted, and the portly man waited 
some moments for some one to appear, until, becom- 
ing impatient, he rapped loudly on the railing of the 
cashier’s desk. 

“ Halloo,” he called. “Is there no one here?” 

The words were scarcely uttered before a door 
leading to an inner office, on which appeared the 

11 


12 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


lettering “ Private, ” opened with some vigor. A 
young man emerged — a sturdily built, pleasant- 
faced, clean-cut fellow of twenty-one. It was Per- 
cival, otherwise known as “Val,” Brandon, private 
secretary to the General Manager of the agency. 

“Here’s one of us, sir,” he said pleasantly. 

“Good,” retorted the visitor, wheeling about. 
“Where’s the manager, Mr. Culverson?” 

“Out of town, sir,” responded Val, politely. 
“He will return next week.” 

“Hum,” mused the stranger. “That will scarcely 
do for me. Supposing I give up the ghost before 
he comes back, without any insurance on my life? 
What then, young man?” 

He spoke in a humorous, good-natured tone, and 
as he gazed waggishly at Val, that young man noticed 
that the speaker had a slight cast in the left eye 
that heightened the humor of his glance. 

“Don’t let that worry you,” Val returned, laugh- 
ing, “for, to use a slang phrase, there are others.” 

“I judge you are one of the others,” continued 
the newcomer. 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Then I want to talk with you.” 

“Come into the private office,” said Val. He led 
the way into the rear of the establishment, and 
seated the stranger in the inner sanctum. 

“Here is my card, Mr. — Mr. ,” began the 

visitor, holding out a slip of pasteboard. 

“My name is Brandon,” said Val, coming to the 


A POLICY AND A YACHT 


13 


rescue, and taking the proffered card. “Percival K. 
Brandon, at your serviced 

The card read as follows: — 

“Maj. E. J. Bangs, 

“ Bangs Flour Co., 

“Stroudport.” 

“I am to understand that you are an authorized 
agent of the Liberty Mutual, am I?” began Major 
Bangs, coming to the point of his business. 

“That is correct,” was VaPs reply, “and there 
is no possible excuse left for your giving up the ghost 
with no insurance on your life, if the company will 
accept the risk.” 

Major Bangs laughed heartily. 

“I’m cornered,” was his facetious declaration, 
“and I surrender. And now I am at your mercy, 
I will take out a policy. What is the limit of insur- 
ance your company will place on one person?” 

“One hundred thousand dollars,” was VaPs reply, 
uttered with no little excitement. 

“I want a policy for that amount,” was the start- 
ling declaration. “Will you put me through?” 

Val Brandon almost leaped from his chair in 
elation. The “plums” of life insurance are not 
usually gathered by sitting in one’s office and wait- 
ing for applicants to call. The successful agent 
spends little time “holding down” his office furni- 
ture. He gets out and “hustles,” if he would win 


14 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


bread and butter. But here was a man who, with- 
out any solicitation, walked in and asked for insur- 
ance on his life; and not for a paltry thousand or 
two, either, but for one hundred thousand dollars 
— the full amount that Val’s company would place 
upon a single life. 

Major Bangs seemed to enjoy the situation hugely. 
He smiled at VaPs illy concealed eagerness. 

“Fm a rare bird,” he exclaimed, with a laugh. 
“You don’t see men like me every day. Life insur- 
ance would boom if they were all as easy victims 
as I. But there is a method in my madness. 

“I am the chief owner in a syndicate controlling 
the output of several large flouring mills in the West,” 
he went on easily. “We are making arrangements 
to increase our direct export business, and for 
our purpose Stroudport is extremely well adapted. 
Whenever we establish a branch house of any 
importance, as the Bangs Flour Company of Stroud- 
port will soon become, I customarily insure my life 
for a good sum, payable to the company, to protect 
the business in the event of my sudden demise. 

“There’s the story in a nutshell,” the Major 
concluded. “Now let us have the application 
signed quickly, for I’m in a hurry,” and the flour 
magnate glanced at his elaborately chased gold 
watch. 

Val seized a rate-book, and began an animated 
disquisition upon the various policy plans his com- 
pany offered. Major Bangs had his mind made up. 


A POLICY AND A YACHT 


15 


“I want the most insurance you can give for the 
least money,” he declared. 

“Then a straight life policy is the thing,” said 
Val. 

“How much will that cost a year?” 

“At your age, thirty-two hundred and twenty 
dollars.” 

“Make out the application, then, and I’ll sign,” 
replied the visitor. 

The application for life insurance is usually made 
upon a blank form. At the Major’s dictation Val 
filled out one such, giving the applicant’s exact 
place and date of birth, business, and so forth. The 
Major affixed his signature, and after arrangements 
had been made by telephone with the company’s 
medical examiner to give Major Bangs the neces- 
sary medical examination, — for without a satisfac- 
tory medical certificate the company would not 
accept the risk or issue the policy, — he shook hands 
with Val and departed, leaving that young person 
overjoyed with the luck that had descended upon 
him. 

For, be it known, that the business of the life 
insurance agent is conducted mainly upon what is 
termed the “commission basis”; that is, the agent 
gets pay for his work in the shape of a percentage 
or commission, on the amount of the premium paid 
for the insurance. 

How big a commission Val Brandon received on 
the premium paid by Major Bangs doesn’t matter, 


16 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


but suffice it to say, it was enough to purchase the 
jaunty sloop-yacht “Spitfire” outright, and leave 
something in the savings bank besides. 

For, needless to say, Major Bangs was rated 
“first class” by the medical examiner, and the 
Liberty Mutual issued the policy promptly. And 
when Val carried it up to the new office of the Bangs 
Flour Company, although the Major himself proved 
to be absent, the man in charge accepted the policy 
without question, and gave in exchange a check 
for the premium, signed “Bangs Flour Co., by J. H. 
Wheelock, Treasurer.” 


CHAPTER II 


AN ENCOUNTER WITH THE “SEA ROVER” 

The sloop-yacht “ Spitfire” had been built the year 
before for Jim Brandon, Val’s cousin, who lived at 
Seaville, thirty odd miles from Stroudport. But as 
Jim had secured a much-coveted appointment to 
the Naval Academy at Annapolis, and would be 
away most of the time for four years, and no one 
knew how much longer, he decided to part with the 
yacht. And so it fell out, that when Jim offered 
the boat for sale, Val insured Major Bangs and pur- 
chased the jaunty craft with a portion of his profits 
from the transaction. 

All this happened early in the year, while the “Spit- 
fire” was still hauled out of the water at Seaville. 
Between that time and July, Val, and his two most 
intimate friends, Carroll Morse — usually nick- 
named “Cal” — and Sumner Parker, or “Sum,” con- 
sumed a deal of brain tissue in planning a four 
weeks’ cruise alongshore to the eastward. The 
itinerary of the cruise, the regulations for working 
the yacht, lists of provisions and personal baggage, 
and last, but not least, the painting and overhauling 
of the sloop — which, of course, was done at Sea- 
ville before she went into the water in the spring — 
17 


18 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


were subjects discussed in all their phases in many 
enthusiastic consultations. 

The “ Spitfire ” was a sloop-yacht, thirty-five feet 
over all, and, to be brief, carried four sails — main, 
jib,, gaff-topsail, and jib-topsail. She had ample 
cabin accommodation for four, and was all around 
one of the neatest and fastest craft of her size that 
ever came into Stroudport Bay. 

The cruise alongshore contemplated a run east- 
ward to Bar Harbor and perhaps beyond. Val had 
secured a four weeks’ vacation; Sumner and Carroll 
were both enjoying midsummer vacations, the one 
from high school, the other from college, and 
had no difficulty in finding time for the cruise. 
Jim Brandon had been invited to accompany them, 
but he was cramming for his Annapolis exams, and 
was unable to accept. A cousin of Cal’s, Farleigh 
Hartwell, who was spending the summer at Harps- 
boro, twenty miles down the bay, was next asked 
to increase the party to four, and accepted. Harps- 
boro being the “ Spitfire’s” first stopping-place, 
according to the schedule, Hartwell was to be taken 
aboard upon her arrival there. 

The rules and regulations divided the crew into 
two watches, port and starboard. Yachting was no 
new thing for either Val or Cal. Both were members 
of the Stroudport Yacht Club, and had spent many 
hours in the “High Jinks,” a twenty-five footer that 
Carroll had owned, until the drunken skipper of 
a tug ran her down at anchorage two summers 
previous, and fairly cut her in two. 


AN ENCOUNTER WITH “SEA ROVER” 19 


Therefore, Val, as captain, took charge of the 
port watch, and Hartwell was told off as the other 
member, while Carroll, who was chosen mate, had 
charge of the starboard watch, consisting of himself 
and Sumner. 

This was the state of affairs on July i, the 
day that Val and Cal went down to Seaville and 
brought the “ Spitfire’ ’ around to Stroudport. 


“Oh, the ocean waves may roll, 

And the stormy winds may blow — ” 


sang Sumner Parker, lustily. Sumner was sitting 
astride the rudder-post of the “Spitfire’s” neat little 
tender, supposed to be steering. He was bare- 
footed, and dabbled his feet energetically in the 
cool water of Stroudport Harbor as the boat ad- 
vanced through the efforts of Cal at the oars. 

Sumner was, as usual, in a happy frame of mind. 
He was a short, fat, roly-poly youth of sixteen years, 
with jovial, ruddy face, and an inexhaustible fund 
of good nature. An expert in a rowboat, his 
knowledge of things nautical ended there. To sup- 
ply this, to him, deplorable deficiency, for weeks 
past — in fact, ever since the subject of the cruise 
had been broached to him — he had literally de- 
voured all the sea tales he could get his hands upon, 
together with various other works of a nautical 
nature. A thick book entitled “The Strange Adven- 


20 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


tures of Jasper Jenks Afloat and Ashore” claimed 
his especial attention as a highly valuable authority 
on marine matters. He occasionally quoted it, 
much to Val and Cal’s amusement. 

Sumner had his head full of sea phrases and the 
theory of navigation. In his enthusiasm he even 
went so far as to borrow a sextant and chronometer 
of Captain Bucklin, a retired sea-captain, who spent 
his time directing several ocean tugs and raising 
carrier-pigeons. He purchased a work on naviga- 
tion, did Sumner, and a nautical almanac, and thus 
equipped worked for many hours endeavoring to 
ascertain the latitude and longitude of Peaked Island, 
three miles down the harbor, where his summers 
were spent. At the time of which I write he had 
succeeded in getting the longitude according to the 
figures given by the almanac, but the latitude would 
not work out twice the same, and on no occasion 
did it agree with the statement in the almanac. 

“ Oh, the ocean waves may roll.” 

he began again, his former strain having been 
interrupted. 

“Oh, give us a breeze,” exclaimed Cal, with 
good-natured impatience. A flat calm had fallen 
upon the bay at the exact time the boys wished to sail 
the “Spitfire” over from her anchorage to Stevens’ 
Wharf to put aboard provisions and baggage for 
the cruise, which was to begin early the following 
morning. 


AN ENCOUNTER WITH “SEA ROVER” 21 


There was nothing left but to tow her over with 
the tender, and with Val aboard the yacht at her 
tiller, and Sumner directing the course of the row- 
boat, Carroll, was expending his muscular force in 
an effort to bring about the desired result. 

“ Give us a breeze,” he repeated. “ Haven’t heard 
anything but ‘Oh, the ocean waves may roll,’ for 
two weeks. Try something else. Try barrels,” he 
suggested, laughing, “they’ll roll.” 

“You don’t know a good thing when you hear 
it,” responded Sumner, in no wise disconcerted. 

“Then that must be Jasper Jenks’ favorite song,” 
was Cal’s sly retort. 

Sumner began a reply, but, happening to glance 
aside, scrambled hastily to his feet with a cry of alarm. 

“ Back water! Back water!” he ejaculated. “No. 
Go ahead, quick!” 

They were towing the yacht obliquely across the 
harbor to the wharf. The somewhat erratic course 
steered by Sumner brought them close to the pier 
heads at some distance from their own berth, neces- 
sitating the skirting of two other wharves at close 
quarters to reach their own. 

The “Spitfire” was nosing along at the end of sixty 
odd feet of line. As the rowboat cleared the end 
of a pier and started across the open dock between 
that wharf and the next, without warning of any 
sort, a steam-yacht, with the words “Sea Rover” 
painted on her stern, backed suddenly out of the 
slip and bore down on the tow-line. 


22 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


“Stop her! Stop her!” howled Sumner and Cal 
in chorus. 

A head stuck suddenly out of the steam-yacht’s 
pilot-house; the head of a man with a big hooked 
nose — a nose that Sumner had afterward reason 
to recall. 

“Get out of that!” he shouted. 

“Reverse her, you lubber. You’ll swamp us,” 
called Sumner with great energy, as the stem of 
the yacht tautened the tow-line till the light tender 
was swung forcibly up against the “Sea Rover’s” 
quarter, and dragged stern foremost through the 
water. 

Believing the rowboat was about to go under, 
Sumner jumped for the yacht’s rail, and climbed to 
the after-deck; but the engine was quickly reversed 
and the steamer came to a stop just as a portly man 
stepped out of the after-cabin. 

“What’s the matter here?” he asked, in wonder, 
confronting Sumner. 

“Matter enough,” retorted Sumner, indignantly. 
“Why don’t you keep your eyes peeled,” he de- 
manded, “and blow your whistle when you back 
out of a dock? You ’most swamped us with your 
measly tub.” 

“I beg your pardon, I’m sure,” began the man, 
a suspicion of a smile lurking on his face, as he 
noted Sumner’s fierce aggressiveness. 

“Pardon,” sniffed Sumner, with fine scorn. 
“What would you beg if you had drowned us all? 


AN ENCOUNTER WITH “SEA ROVER” 23 


Just tell your helmsman to blow his whistle next 
time. That’s more to the point.” 

“Well, you’re not fish-food yet, my young friend,” 
with a twinkle in his eyes, one of which had a wag- 
gish cast. “What are you doing with that line?” 

Cal had recovered himself, and pulled the tender 
away from the yacht, thus bringing the tow-line into 
sight. 

“There was a sailboat at the other end of it,” 
retorted Sumner, hurrying to the other side of the 
steamer to inspect the “Spitfire,” “and is now, if 
you haven’t sunk her.” 

The “Spitfire, ” however, was all right, for when the 
“Sea Rover” had appeared so unexpectedly, Val 
simply put the tiller over as the tow-line tightened, 
and the sloop laid up alongside, with no damage but 
a little paint scraped. 

The man followed Sumner, and as that young 
person clambered aboard the sloop, Val was sur- 
prised by the sound of a familiar voice, “Isn’t this 
Percival K. Brandon?” 

It was Major Bangs who spoke, and at sight of 
his quizzically humorous face, Val’s perturbation 
vanished. 

“Halloo, Major Bangs,” he responded good- 
naturedly. “Are you trying to kill us all?” 

“And deprive the Liberty Mutual of its best 
agent?” retorted Bangs. “Never! I’m camping 
out on Pod Island, and my friend, the skipper, is 
in such a great hurry to get me down there that 


24 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


he forgot to signal when he backed out. I sincerely 
beg your pardon. What’s up, anyway?” Bangs 
continued, with curiosity. “Off for a cruise, eh?” 

“Four weeks alongshore,” replied Val. During 
this time he was not idle. With Sumner’s assistance 
the sloop was pushed clear of the “Sea Rover,” Cal 
took up the slack in the tow-line, and the “Spitfire” 
resumed her journey. As she proceeded, Bangs 
walked along the steamer’s deck, talking as he went. 

“When do you start?” he asked, with sudden 
interest. 

“To-morrow morning, if the weather holds fair.” 

“Eastward?” 

Val nodded. The distance between the boats 
was now rapidly widening. The Major had to raise 
his voice. 

“If you get becalmed near Pod Island,” he 
shouted, “just come ashore and call. Latch-string 
always out. Don’t forget, will you?” 

Val bowed his acknowledgments, and turned his 
attention to the “Spitfire.” 

“He’s mighty anxious to have you call on him, 
seems to me,” was Sumner’s remark. “Who is he, 
anyhow?” 

“The man I insured for a hundred thousand,” 
replied Val, carelessly. 

“Oh, then you’re well acquainted, which accounts 
for it,” said Sum, in a tone of conviction. 

“Never saw him but twice, and this is the second 
time.” 


AN ENCOUNTER WITH “SEA ROVER” 25 


“Whew!” exclaimed Sumner, in wonder. “He 
seemed to love you so, I thought he must at least 
be an uncle.” 

“I suppose it’s merely his way. He’d probably 
talk the same way to the next man.” 

“I was the next man, but he didn’t invite me,” 
persisted Sum. 

“You were included, of course,” was Val’s rather 
impatient response. “What a crank you are, Sum, 
when you get an idea into your old noddle.” 

“All I have to say is, I think Major Bangs is a 
funny duck,” said Sumner. 

“But you ought not to kick, for if it hadn’t been 
for Bangs, we wouldn’t have any yacht to cruise 
in.” 

“Bless his dear heart,” was Sumner’s retort, as, 
with mock effusion, he waved his cap at the “Sea 
Rover,” now steaming rapidly down the harbor. A 
moment later he took a very sudden seat on the 
cockpit floor, for the sloop brought up against her 
wharf with a thump. 

The balance of the afternoon was spent in getting 
aboard everything needed for the cruise. The eat- 
ables now taken on were mainly canned goods, and 
breadstuff s in tins. Fruit and fresh vegetables 
they purposed to buy at the various stopping-places. 
Bedding, clothing, a kerosene stove and fuel for it, 
a good-sized water beaker filled, books, the necessary 
coast charts — in fact, everything they thought need- 
ful, with the exception of Sumner and Farleigh 


26 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


Hartwell’s personal baggage, was put aboard that 
afternoon. 

Sumner’s summer home being on the line of the 
cruise, he planned to spend the night there, get his 
baggage together, and rejoin the yacht when it 
arrived in the early morning. Val and Cal were to 
sleep on board, and get an early start. 

The last of the “ cargo” was just aboard when 
a group appeared on the stringpiece of the wharf, 
and for the next half hour the boys held a farewell 
reception to Mr. and Mrs. Brandon, Mr. and Mrs. 
Morse, and Manager Culverson of the Liberty 
Mutual, aboard the “Spitfire,” during which time the 
Manager seized the opportunity to present the 
young skipper with a brand-new patent taffrail log 
for recording the yacht’s speed. 

At nine o’clock Val and Cal turned in. Sumner 
had taken the last steamer for Peaked Island, and 
quiet settled down over Stevens’ Wharf and the 
yacht tied up there. 

Sometime in the wee small hours, the pair were 
roused from deep slumber by a commotion on the 
wharf. 

Thump! Bang! Bang! Something heavy came 
tumbling down on the planking nearly over then- 
heads. 

The boys awoke just in time to catch a vexed 
exclamation. 

“What are you doing? Do you want to wake up 
all Stroudport?” 


CHAPTER III 


A MIDNIGHT MYSTERY 

Carroll Morse started up so abruptly that his 
head thumped forcibly against the deck above. 
But before he could cry out, Val’s hand covered his 
mouth. 

“Sh-h-h,” whispered that person. “ Something’s 
up! Listen!” 

Cal rather thought something was down, for cer- 
tainly he had heard.it drop; but he obeyed VaPs 
admonition, and rose with him to peer out at the 
skylight, rubbing his aching head as he did so. 

When the boys turned in, they had opened the 
skylights some dozen inches, and fastened them 
there. They had also locked the companion-doors, 
but left the hatch open, thus securing plenty of fresh 
air. Through the partly open skylight they now 
peeped without danger of discovery. 

“ Bring a lantern,” said some one on the wharf, 
in an undertone. 

“ Lantern? You’re crazy,” retorted a voice that 
somehow sounded familiar to Val. “ You’ll queer 
the whole business with a light. 

“Here, you,” the voice continued. “The horse will 
stand without holding. Lend a hand with this box.” 

27 


28 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


“ There’s a team on the wharf,” whispered Cal 
to Val. 

“Yes,” was the reply, “and there’s a steamer 
hauled up close astern of us.” 

The hiss of steam from a safety valve suddenly 
sounded on the air. 

“Get a gait on there,” impatiently muttered the 
person directing affairs. “We’ve got to get out of 
this.” 

One of the men on the wharf scrambled down 
aboard the steamer. What appeared to be a plank 
was laid from the wharf to the after-deck, and down 
its inclined surface a long box-like object was care- 
fully slid. This operation was performed with very 
little noise, to the manifest satisfaction of all con- 
cerned, and at a word of command all but two went 
forward. 

“Be all ready to start,” was the gruff order, given 
in an undertone. “We’ll be out of here in less than 
two minutes.” 

“If only the moon would come out,” whispered 
Val to his companion at this juncture. “That fel- 
low’s voice seems familiar. I wish I could get a 
clear view of him.” 

But the moon was shielded by dense clouds, and 
down in the shadow of the high pier the gloom was 
quite intense. It was just possible to distinguish 
the shapes of objects on the steamer’s deck, but 
identification of those aboard was out of the question. 

The two on the after-deck drew nearer the stern, 


A MIDNIGHT MYSTERY 


29 


until they were scarce fifteen feet from the pair so 
eagerly listening in the cabin of the “Spitfire.” 

“So you got my note O. K,” began one. 

“Correct you are,” was the reply, and it was the 
familiar voice that uttered it. 

“I’ve delivered the plant,” went on the first, 
“and I want my pay.” 

“Here' it is, as promised,” returned the other, 
promptly. “ There’s a hundred there,” he went on, 
apparently handing his companion money. “Take 
my word for it. Don’t strike a light.” 

“I’ll believe you,” muttered the recipient. “But 
this is a risky job for me. A hundred won’t go far 
if I’m pulled up, and by all that’s holy,” he went on, 
with energy, “if I do get nabbed and you don’t 
stand behind me, I shall blow the whole game.” 

“You keep your mouth shut,” exclaimed the other, 
firmly, “and you’ll be all right. We’ll stand behind 
you till the crack of doom. Better get ashore. 
We’re going to clear out.” 

The man addressed climbed upon the wharf. By 
the instructions of the other, he cast off the lines. 
The steamer’s propeller began to churn slowly, and 
the “Spitfire’s” strange neighbor disappeared in the 
gloom without a light showing. 

Then the team on the wharf moved quietly away, 
and all was silent once more. The whole operation 
had not occupied over ten minutes. 

“Well?” It was Cal’s voice that broke the still- 
ness of the sloop’s cabin. “Well, what do you 
make of it, anyhow?” 


30 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


There was no need for silence now, and Val 
responded in his natural tones, answering question 
with question. 

“Did you recognize the voice of that man who 
appeared to be boss?’ , 

“No.” 

“It sounded familiar, but to save my life I can’t 
place it,” mused Val, perplexed. 

“It was too dark to distinguish any one. I 
couldn’t even tell the steamer; but I’ll say this, 
Val, there’s something crooked going on.” 

“I believe you,” returned Val, “but what had we 
best do about it?” 

“I say, notify the City Marshal, and let him look 
into the matter.” 

“And what have we to tell him?” 

“Why,” returned Cal, “that a team brought a 
box to Stevens’ Wharf at” — here Cal struck a match 
and looked at his watch, — “one o’clock Tuesday 
morning, July 8 ” 

“That it was loaded on an unknown steamer by 
unknown men,” broke in Val, with some sarcasm 
in his voice. “The unknown steamer steams off 
into the unknown and the unknown team drives 
away to the same place, and how the City Marshal 
would laugh at us.” 

“I don’t believe it,” Cal replied. “There is 
some other end to the clue. If that was a box of 
stolen stuff, the one who was robbed will notify the 
police. Our notification will be another link in the 
chain of evidence.” 


A MIDNIGHT MYSTERY 


31 


As this argument seemed eminently sensible, 
the upshot was that before the boys turned in again 
a brief letter was written to the Stroudport City 
Marshal, detailing the occurrence of the night, and 
referring him 'to their respective parents in case he 
should wish to communicate with the yachtsmen 
about the matter. 

Just before the yacht got under way the following 
morning, Cal dropped this communication into a 
letter box at the head of the wharf, and at six they 
were off and the cruise really begun. 

Like a yachtsman’s dream the “Spitfire” looked as 
she cut daintily through the water. It was a clear 
morning, despite the cloudy night, and the sun 
shone brightly on a hull and deck resplendent with 
new paint, on mast and spars glistening with var- 
nish, and on sails gleaming white as snow. 

At Val’s command Cal loaded the small brass 
cannon that stood lashed to the forward deck, and as 
the “ Spitfire ” glided past the clubhouse of the Stroud- 
port Yacht Club, a salute was fired that awoke the 
echoes, and brought the sleepy janitor out to wave 
a good-by. 

With every rag of canvas drawing, the yacht club 
pennant at the topmast head, and the stars and 
stripes at the main-peak, the yacht moved away 
before the gentle westerly breeze, heading for 
Peaked Island. 

Sumner had agreed to be at the Peaked Island 
landing at seven sharp, bag and baggage; but so 


32 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


eager was he to join the expedition that he could 
not wait for the yacht to come up to the wharf. 
He engaged a youth to row him and his belongings 
out to meet her in the channel. 

So it came about that when the “ Spitfire” was still 
a quarter of a mile from the island, Val and Cal 
became aware that a rowboat containing two per- 
sons was heading for the yacht, and shortly Sum- 
ner’s roly-poly figure was distinguishable in the 
stern, and his cheery voice gave hail. 

“ ‘Spitfire,’ ahoy!” 

“All aboard for down-east,” called Cal, from the 
forward deck. 

The “Spitfire” came into the wind, with sails shak- 
ing. The rowboat came on apace. In his enthusiasm 
Sumner stood up and waved his cap, while the small 
boy at the oars pulled still more lustily. 

“Look out,” warned Cal, “you’ll be into us.” 
He leaned hastily down to fend off the rowboat. 
The rower paused in his work and gazed over his 
shoulder, while Sumner seized the opportunity to 
air a sea-phrase. 

“Avast, you lubber!” 

And then the rowboat struck the yacht a glancing 
blow, and Sum tumbled incontinently over upon his 
baggage, to lay there sprawling while Val and Cal 
laughed vociferously. 

As soon as his equilibrium was regained, Sumner 
began pitching his effects aboard. A huge valise, a 
dress-suit case, a banjo, a mackintosh, a large wooden 


A MIDNIGHT MYSTERY 


33 


box, and an object that resembled a small hencoop, 
came over the rail in quick succession, the intervals 
between their several transits being punctuated by 
Sumner with crisp remarks to his boatman regarding 
careless rowing. 

“And now, young feller,” he concluded, con- 
descendingly, as the last piece was put aboard the 
yacht, “ you ought to be put in irons, but — here’s a 
quarter in place of the ten dollars I might have given 
you. You can go ashore.” 

Sum clambered aboard the “ Spitfire,” and she 
filled away. 

“I thought you’d never get along,” grumbled 
Sumner, as he began transferring a portion of his 
belongings to the cockpit, and thence to the cabin. 
“I’ve been hove to half an hour on that hot little 
wharf waiting for you.” 

“We started on time,” replied Cal, who had taken 
the tiller, “but the wind was light. What have 
you got in that coop? ” 

“That’s what I’d like to know,” Val said, eyeing 
the miniature hencoop with curiosity. 

“That’s a life preserver,” began Sumner, as he 
picked up the article in question and brought it down 
into the cockpit. “It’s always customary for ships 
to carry hencoops, you know,” he added, with a 
mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “Anyhow, you 
always read about them in sea stories. When a fel- 
low falls overboard, the first order is always ‘ throw 
him a hencoop,’ so here’s one for the 'Spitfire.’” 


34 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


Cal began to laugh; but Val peered into the box. 

“Halloo ! ” he exclaimed. “Carrier-pigeons, aren’t 
they? ” 

“That’s what,” replied Sumner, proudly, “a pair 
of ’em. Captain Bucklin let me take ’em, and I’ve 
got feed for ’em in my baggage. There’ll be 
times when we can’t get to a post-office, and again, 
we may get into a fix and want to notify our folks.” 

“That’s good,” Cal affirmed. “I’ve read great 
tales of what carriers will do; now we’ll have a 
chance to prove them.” 

“The Captain wouldn’t let me bring the sextant 
and chronometer, though,” mourned Sum, “so I 
guess we’ll have to depend on dead reckoning.” 

“Why, didn’t you bring Jasper Jenks along?” 
asked Cal, quickly. 

“Of course.” 

“Then we are all right. The cruise would be a 
dismal failure without that standard authority to 
fall back on.” 

“I brought my pocket kodak, and ten strips of 
film,” went on Sum, “and my materia medica.” 

“What’s that?” inquired Val, pretending not to 
understand. 

“The ship’s medicine chest, greeny.” 

“Everything from paregoric to peppermint, I 
suppose,” Cal remarked. “Hope you brought 
some seasick medicine for yourself.” 

By this time Val and Cal were hungry as bears. 
Sumner, who had already eaten, volunteered to help 


A MIDNIGHT MYSTERY 


35 


Val prepare a meal for himself and the mate. This 
occupied some minutes, during which Val related 
to Sumner the odd happening of the night, much to 
that person’s surprise and mystification. 

Breakfast was soon disposed of. While the 
others ate, Sumner busied himself lashing the 
“hencoop” to a ring bolt on the forward deck, and 
in feeding the two occupants. In stormy weather he 
planned to put them below in the forepeak, and to 
keep spray from troubling them while on deck, he 
had arranged a piece of tarpaulin that could be 
fitted over the box. 

The cruise regulations provided that the two 
watches should navigate the yacht on alternate 
days. Thus one day, Val, with Farleigh Hartwell, 
would assume that duty, and Cal with Sumner, the 
next. The captain would be in charge one day 
and the mate the next, though of course the authority 
of the captain superseded that of the mate, even on 
days when the latter was navigator, if the captain 
deemed the mate to be in error. 

The watch that was not engaged in sailing cooked 
the meals and cleaned up the craft. In an emer- 
gency, also, they were obliged to render assistance 
to the navigating watch, which, for a while at least, 
might be highly expedient, since neither Sumner nor 
Hartwell were very well up in handling a sailboat, 
and it might take them some little time to get ac- 
customed to handling ropes and sails in a seaman- 
like manner. 


36 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


In this way a fair division of labor was to be made. 
There were also regulations providing for days on 
which the yacht might be detained in port, and for 
Sundays, on which it was not proposed to sail unless 
absolutely necessary. 

But on this first day of the cruise, since Hartwell 
was not present, rules were temporarily suspended, 
the captain was in charge and each was to turn to as 
required by him. 

Lighter and lighter grew the breeze. At ten it 
was a mere breath, but the “ Spitfire,” helped by the 
ebbing tide, edged farther and farther down the 
bay. Those familiar with the Atlantic coast are 
aware that Stroudport harbor is the innermost part 
of a large and beautiful island-dotted bay. So 
numerous, in fact, are these charming bits of land, 
that they are often referred to as the “ three hundred 
and sixty-five islands.” Many of them are covered 
with summer cottages; numerous steamer lines con- 
nect them with the city; and not a few of the islands 
have residents the year round. 

Down among these islands the “ Spitfire” was now 
threading her way. Ahead opened out a vista of 
blue channel, flanked on either side by rock and 
beach bordered shores, back of which rose pictur- 
esque grassy or wooded slopes, with cottages scattered 
here and there. 

Aggravating as it was to have a calm at the very 
outset, yet it was pleasant to lounge in the shade of 
the big mainsail, and watch the busy life of the 


A MIDNIGHT MYSTERY 


37 


islands so close at hand, the steamers plying to and 
fro, or to lay comfortably back and eye the clouds 
floating high overhead. 

By noon the “Spitfire” had managed to poke her 
nose down past Long Island, but it was slow work, 
and unless the wind freshened soon the chances 
of reaching Harpsboro by night were not encourag- 
ing. The log showed that they had made eight 
miles in six hours, which was not very brisk 
traveling. 

Sumner was now taking a trick at the tiller, 
though it needed slight attention, since the yacht 
was scarce making steerage way, and did little but 
drift with the tide. Sumner was absorbed in medi- 
tation. The summer calm was conducive to drowsi- 
ness, and Cal and Val were stretched at full length 
on the forward deck, snoozing. 

Sumner’s meditative mood rendered him rather 
oblivious to the yacht’s course, slow though it was, 
or he would have noted that the tide was carrying 
them in dangerously close to Bones Island. 

The shore of this island was a sandy beach, 
backed by a high bluff, and as the yacht drifted in 
closer, every breath of wind was cut off. The 
yacht was at the mercy of the tide, strong here, and 
before Sumner realized what was happening, the 
“Spitfire” swung rapidly inshore, and with a grating 
under her keel, stopped short. 

“What are you doing?” Cal inquired, starting up. 
“Starboard your helm, or you’ll have us ashore!” 


38 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


“ We’re pretty close to land as it is,” retorted Sum, 
with a grimace. “This tide has set us ashore 
quicker ’n a wink. 

“Who’d have thought,” he continued, leaving 
the now useless tiller, and peering over the side, 
“that the bottom was so near the top here? ” 

“ Now she’s off,” he presently exclaimed, as, 
sighting by the island, he seemed to discern some 
motion in the craft. The “Spitfire” had run upon 
a jutting point, around which the tide ebbed 
rapidly. 

“She’s off nothing,” Cal retorted, disgustedly. 
“She’s only swinging a little in the tide. Let’s see 
if we can’t tug her off with the tender.” 

“Halloo! What’s* the row? Got to Harps- 
boro? ” Val woke up and stared around. 

“Well, not so you’d notice it,” Cal retorted. 
“Sumner’s run us ashore on Bones Island. We’re 
going to try and tug her off with the tender. What 
do you think?” 

Val took a comprehensive look about. 

“Think,” he replied, after glancing finally at his 
watch, “ I don’t think you can do it in a week of Sundays, 
till the tide turns. It’s a quarter past twelve. Low 
tide at one- thirty to-day. We can start her off by 
three, anyhow. You certainly can’t pull her ahead 
over the point, nor back against that current now. 
We’ll have to let her set.” 

“Say, fellows,” exclaimed Sumner, who during 
the dialogue had been scrutinizing the shore, 


A MIDNIGHT MYSTERY 


• 39 


“there’s slats of raspberry bushes on this island. 
I’ll bet there’s a pile of berries; why don’t we have 
some ?” 

“Go ashore and get ’em,” Val retorted. “ I’ll 
eat all you’ll pick.” 

The word raspberries stirred Cal, also, for he was 
fond of the small fruit. 

“Let’s go ashore and see, Sum,” he exclaimed, 
pulling in the tender. 

“Yes, go ahead,” said Val. “I’ll look out for 
the yacht, and it has occurred to me that I want to 
open the log-book. When you get back we’ll have 
dinner.” 

Cal and Sumner pulled away, leaving Val writing 
in a volume upon whose cover was inscribed “Log- 
book of the Sloop -yacht ‘Spitfire.’” 

The bluff near which the “Spitfire” was stranded 
appearing too steep to climb easily, the boys pulled 
round the point, looking for a better landing-place. 
Here they found evidences of life ashore. Back 
some rods from the water, in the edge of a grove, 
stood a farmhouse, and anchored in a snug cove was 
a small catboat. The cove had a smooth beach. 

“We’ll land in the cove,” directed Cal. Sumner 
was at the oars, and pulled in the direction indicated ; 
but they were still some ways from the landing-point 
when Cal saw the front door of the farmhouse open. 
A woman emerged and ran down toward the cove, 
beckoning as she did so. Soon reaching the edge of 
the bluff, she began to call. 


40 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


“ Help, quick! Help!” 

“ Halloo, what’s the row?” questioned Sum, 
pausing to look around. 

When the woman saw him stop rowing she began 
to beckon and call again. She appeared to be in a 
high state of excitement. 


CHAPTER IV 


CAL AND SUM RISE TO AN EMERGENCY 

“ She’s hollering again,” exclaimed Sumner, as 
he watched the movements of the woman at the 
top of the bluff. “What do you ’spose is the 
matter?” 

‘ ‘ Mumps, ” replied Carroll, solemnly. 

“Mumps?” repeated Sumner, inquiringly. “How 
do you know?” 

“I don’t know,” Cal returned, laughing in spite 
of the seriousness of the situation. “How in the 
world can you expect me to? If you’ll just give 
those oars a boost, perhaps we can find out what 
the matter is.” 

Sumner began rowing energetically. 

“There’s one thing it surely isn’t,” he ejaculated, 
in a tone of certainty. 

“What’s that?” 

“Lock-jaw,” was the sententious reply. 

The tender soon grounded at the cove, just below 
the high bank on which stood the woman. 

“What’s the matter?” was Sumner’s eager in- 
quiry, but the woman cut him short. 

“Don’t come ashore!” she exclaimed, with great 
energy. “Don’t dare to waste a single precious 

41 


42 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


minute! Mother’s up to the house” — she jerked 
a thumb over her shoulder at the farmhouse — “and 
she’s awfully sick, perhaps dying! 

“O-o-o-oh! I want you to go straight over to 
Beeg Island and get a doctor to come over imme- 
diately. Tell him to come at once. Please go just 
as fast as you can! Take — take the sailboat if it 
will be any quicker.” 

This revelation of sudden and dire emergency 
threw Sumner into momentary gasping surprise, 
from which he recovered sufficiently to ask: — 

“What shall we say is the matter with your 
mother, and who is it wants the doctor?” 

“Mrs. Bones,” was all the reply that came back, 
for the woman turned and ran back to the house, 
disappearing a moment later in the open doorway. 

“Well, I’m jiggered!” declared Sum, gazing open- 
mouthed after the woman until she was lost to sight. 
“What shall we do?” 

“Go to Beeg Island for the doctor, of course,” 
retorted Cal, decidedly. “We can’t leave the 
woman to die.” 

“No,” responded his companion, slowly, “I sup- 
pose not — of course not, I mean. But who wants 
to row to Beeg Island and back for a doctor? It’s 
every bit of four miles.” 

“The wind is freshening,” exclaimed Cal, looking 
seaward. “See, out of the lee of the island the 
water is roughened by the breeze.” 

“Then we’d better take the sailboat,” rejoined 


CAL AND SUM IN EMERGENCY 43 


Sumner. He pushed off, and headed for the sail- 
boat, which was a twenty-foot cat-rigged affair. 

“Fd like to know just what the matter is with 
her mother, anyhow,” mused Sumner, thoughtfully, 
as he worked away at the oars. 

“What good would it do you?” 

“Maybe I could cure her myself, without going 
for the doctor,” was the unlooked-for reply. 

“There are lots of things I know how to doctor 
already,” went on Sum, with great complacency, 
failing to note that Cal was on the verge of an ex- 
plosion. “There’s corns and bunions, warts, head- 
ache, stomach-ache, pinkeye, and a lot of other 
diseases that I forget the names of now.” 

“What a pity you didn’t tell Mrs. Bones so when 
you had the chance,” retorted Cal, and then he 
burst into a loud guffaw. 

Sumner gazed at him with disgust. He turned 
and grasped the gunwale of the catboat, which they 
had now reached, and clambered aboard, muttering 
sourly : — 

“Come, get in here lively, if you ever want to 
get that doctor.” 

The catboat was a neat centerboard craft, decked 
over forward, with a little cuddy amidships, and a 
cozy cockpit big enough to hold half a dozen people. 
“Molly Mook” was the name on the stern. She 
was moored to a buoy, and to free her it was simply 
necessary to uncatch a spring hook at the bow. 
The rowboat was fastened to the buoy, since they 


44 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


did not care to drag it to Beeg Island and back. Up 
went the sail, the mooring line was cast off, and under 
the influence of the freshening breeze the “ Molly 
Mook” stood out of the cove. 

Out of the lee of the bluff the wind came still 
more briskly, and a few moments later Val Bran- 
don was surprised to behold a sailboat approach- 
ing around the point whence a short time before 
the rowboat had gone, and when it had come 
within hailing distance, to hear Cal’s familiar tones. 

“ There’s a woman sick on the island. We’re 
going over to Beeg Island for a doctor.” 

“All right. Good luck,” called back the skipper 
of the ‘ ‘ Spitfire, ’ ’ readily grasping the situation. The 
catboat went about, and sped off before the wind, 
with Beeg Island landing dead ahead across a two- 
mile strip of water. Beeg Island was quite a sum- 
mer resort, and the steamer landing was the nearest 
approach to a large cottage settlement. This seemed 
to be the most likely place to find a physician, and 
was the boys’ objective point. 

Scarcely were his chums out of hail when Val was 
attracted by a call from the shore. The woman 
who had sent Cal and Sum on their errand came 
running along the bluff, waving her hands and 
calling: — 

“Stop! Come back!” 

Arriving opposite the “Spitfire” she halted, and 
having paused a moment to regain her breath, hailed 
the sloop’s captain. 


CAL AND SUM IN EMERGENCY 45 


“Do you know those boys in the sailboat ?” 

Val replied in the affirmative. 

“Tell them they needn’t go after the doctor,” 
was the surprising request. “We don’t need him. 
Tell them to come back.” 

“But,” began Val, with an amused smile on 
his face, “they’ve gone too far ” 

But Mrs. Bones was gone also, hurrying back 
in the direction she had come, and Val found him- 
self talking to the bluff. 

“She seems to take me for a telephone,” he 
laughed, turning again to the log-book. 

Meanwhile the “Molly Mook” was skimming over 
the water like a swallow. 

“Gee, whiz!” exclaimed Sumner, admiringly, 
noting her speed. “Doesn’t she smoke through it, 
though! ” 

“You’d think so if you had to steer,” retorted Cal, 
hugging the tiller hard, for the “Molly Mook,” like 
all cat-rigged boats, carried a strong weather helm 
when running before the wind, and every pound of 
wind on the canvas made itself felt at the tiller. 

“Here comes the Harpsboro steamer, the ‘Merry- 
coneag,’ ” Sumner presently announced, looking 
back towards Bones Island. “ She’s right after us, 
and going to touch at Beeg, too. Bet you the sodas 
we get there ahead. What do you say? ” 

Cal glanced back at the steamer, which was just 
passing the spot where the “ Spitfire” lay stuck in 
the sand. 


46 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


“Agreed,” he retorted. “You’ll pay for the re- 
freshments, and I’ll need them, for this wind makes 
steering a tedious strain.” 

“Let me steer her awhile, then,” said Sumner, 
“and give you a little rest. I never steered a cat- 
boat in my life, and I’d like to learn how.” 

“Yes,” Cal ejaculated, with a sly grimace, “and 
run us ashore again.” 

“Oh, let up!” replied Sumner, indignantly. 
“There’s nothing between here and the landing to 
go ashore on.” 

“ Come down here, then, and take a turn at it. I 
warn you you’ll get enough in about two minutes.” 

Sumner took the tiller, and under Cal’s instructions 
kept the “Molly Mook” on her course. Steadily 
the steamer gained upon them. As the minutes 
elapsed, it became evident that the outcome of the 
race would be close. Five minutes later the “Merry- 
coneag” had drawn so close that it was clear she 
would leave them astern before their destination 
was reached. The wind still held steady, however, 
and the “Molly Mook” was showing her best paces 
to the group of passengers on the steamer’s forward 
deck, now so near that it was almost possible to 
distinguish faces. 

“Blow, blow, ye winds,” groaned Sumner, in 
mock despair; “and save me the price of two good 
sodas.” 

Unexpectedly came the answer to his entreaty. 
The wind of a sudden became flawy. The steamer 



« WITH A CRY OF ALARM CAL SPRANG TO HIS PLACE, ANI) 
TRIED TO BRING THE ‘MOLLY MOOK ’ INTO THE WIND. 





CAL AND SUM IN EMERGENCY 47 


still gained rapidly. Now she was almost upon 
them. The “ Molly Mook” rocked from side to side 
in the deep sea swell, and without warning a side 
gust of wind jibed the sail. 

Before Sumner had time to draw his breath he was 
appalled to see the boom rise in the air and sweep 
viciously over his head. The sail jibed with a snap 
that threatened to capsize the craft, or take her mast 
out; the sheet came taut against the steersman with 
a force that threw him violently back against the 
coaming and gave him a sore back that he did not 
get rid of for a week, while the gaff literally wrapped 
the sail around the mast. 

Sumner was brushed from the tiller. With a 
cry of alarm Cal sprang to his place, and tried to 
bring the “ Molly Mook” into the wind. Paying not 
the slightest attention to her tiller, the catboat went 
into irons, and drifted directly off into the path of 
the steamer. The “Merryconeag ” was not over fifty 
feet distant, and coming at full speed. 


CHAPTER V 


THE MYSTERIOUS OVERCOAT 

When Carroll Morse found that the catboat 
would pay no attention to her helm, he glanced 
around apprehensively at the steamer. He was 
horrified to see her about to cut the “ Molly Mook” 
in two. He gave utterance to a fierce cry, which 
the passengers on the “Merryconeag” took up. 

Clang, clang, went the engine room gong. The 
propeller churned violently on the reverse ; the 
steamer’s wheel went hard down, and an instant 
later her bow swept close past the catboat’s stern 
— so close that the swell threw the little sailboat 
against the steamer’s side as she slid past; and so 
suddenly did the whole thing happen that Cal and 
Sum had time to do nothing but hold on. Then the 
“Merryconeag” was past, and they lay, as before, 
with the “Molly Mook” in irons, and her gaff twisted 
around the mast. 

“Well, I’ll be gumswizzled! ” ejaculated Sumner, 
as soon as he could find utterance. 

“Never mind that,” adjured Cal, half angrily. 
“Take an oar and help me get the boat’s head to 
the wind.” 


48 


THE MYSTERIOUS OVERCOAT 49 


By dint of some hard work, the catboat’s head 
was brought to the wind, the gaff dropped back to 
its proper position, and matters assumed their nor- 
mal condition. After hastily putting a reef in the 
sail to prevent a recurrence of the mishap, Cal once 
more headed the “ Molly Mook” for the landing. 
Sumner had lost all desire to steer, and sat subdued 
until the wharf was reached. Then he volunteered 
to go ashore and find the physician. 

He had no difficulty in persuading Cal to accept 
his offer, for it was warm ashore, and none could 
tell how long a hunt would be necessary before a 
doctor was forthcoming. Sum was glad to feel solid 
earth under him once more, and hurried up the 
wharf, leaving Cal to make a discovery. 

Flung in a heap under the seat of the “Molly 
Mook’s” standing room was a light brown summer 
overcoat. It lay there loosely, as though thrown 
into its present position with considerable force. With 
idle curiosity Cal picked it up and examined it. 

It was an expensively made coat, and cut for a 
good-sized man. 

“That coat was not here when we left Bones 
Island,” mused Cal, wonderingly. “I know it was 
not. But where did it drop from?” 

There was a single possibility. Possibly it had 
fallen from the Harpsboro steamer. The “Merry- 
coneag” had now disappeared among the islands 
down the harbor, and inquiry there was impossible; 
but as Cal sat thinking the matter over, the more he 


50 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


became convinced that the coat could have come into 
the boat in no other way. 

When the steamer encountered the sailboat, 
there had been a great flurry among the passen- 
gers on deck, and doubtless in the excitement some 
man leaning over for a better view had inadver- 
tently lost his overcoat off his arm, or allowed it to 
slip unnoticed from the rail, and by chance it had 
fallen into the “Molly Mook’s” standing room. 
This was Cal’s line of reasoning, and for want of a 
better, it seemed satisfactory. 

There seemed to be nothing in the pockets save 
a handkerchief. This had a “B” in a corner. 
With this exception, in the brief inspection he made at 
this time, Cal discovered nothing offering a clue to 
the ownership of the overcoat. 

Half an hour elapsed before Sumner appeared 
with the physician, the latter carrying a medicine 
case. The Doctor was a tall, gaunt specimen of 
humanity, who gave his name as Pilsingham. Thin 
and cadaverous, he appeared to be in the last stages 
of consumption, and throughout his entire trip to 
Bones Island and back, never smiled. 

“What a funereal looking old cove,” Sumner 
smuggled in a whisper to Cal when the physician’s 
back was turned. “Wonder if he does undertaking, 
too.” 

“Yes,” returned Cal, with a twinkle in his eyes, 
“and gets a double profit out of his practice.” 

The wind still blew steadily from the southwest; 



“‘WELL, YOU CAN TAKE HIM RIGHT STRAIGHT BACK 

AGAIN.’ ” 














- 







/ 











i- 

































I 





THE MYSTERIOUS OVERCOAT 51 


the “Molly Mook” made two long reaches and one 
short one, and came to her anchorage at Bones 
Island inside of half an hour. During this time 
Cal, his attention taken up with the management 
of the catboat, said nothing to Sumner regarding 
the mysterious overcoat, preferring to broach the 
matter when there was more opportunity for dis- 
cussion. 

Cal stayed aboard to make everything snug, while 
Sum took the Doctor ashore and conducted him to the 
farmhouse. His knock was answered by the woman 
who had sent them on their errand, and who had 
given the name of “Mrs. Bones.’’ 

“I have brought Dr. Pilsingham, Mrs. Bones,” 
began Sumner. “ I hope it isn’t too late to ” 

“Well, you can take him right straight back 
again,” was the astonishing reply, delivered in acid 
tones. “ I don’t need any doctor, and I won’t have 
one. I thought mother had taken some poison 
medicine, and was dying, but I found she hadn’t, 
and was only asleep. I told the other fellow ” — 
she made a gesture in a direction which Sumner 
vaguely surmised indicated the “Spitfire” — “to tell 
you to come back. You can take your doctor right 
straight back where you got him. I don’t want him, 
and don’t propose to pay doctor’s bills when there’s 
no earthly need.” 

And she slammed the door in their faces. 

Sumner gave a whistle of amazement. The Doc- 
tor looked vexed. There was little to be said, and 


52 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


neither said it, but walked silently to the shore and 
rowed back to the “Molly Mook.” 

Everything was snug, so Cal entered the tender 
with the overcoat on his arm, and they rowed around 
to the “Spitfire,” while Sumner related the reception 
that Mrs. Bones had accorded them. The Doctor 
sat on the bow thwart and looked glum. 

As Sum proceeded with his brief narrative, Cal’s 
face gradually relaxed until he was laughing up- 
roariously. 

“What a set of guys that old woman made of us,” 
he declared, as soon as he could speak. “That’s 
the best joke I have heard for ages.” 

The Doctor stirred indignantly. 

“I don’t suppose,” he began, half hesitatingly, 
“I don’t suppose it’s any use asking you gentlemen 
to reimburse me for my time and trouble in coming 
to this forsaken place? ” 

He rubbed his hands together dubiously. 

Cal grew red in the face from the force of his pent 
feelings. 

“Not the least in the world,” he finally blurted 
out. 

“We’ll give you half our profits in the trip,” re- 
torted Sumner, to whom the whole affair had now 
assumed the aspect of a gigantic joke. “Give you 
one half of all we get out of it.” 

Dr. Pilsingham turned his eyes eagerly on Sumner 
for a moment; then straightened up in sudden 
dignity. 


THE MYSTERIOUS OVERCOAT 


53 


A minute later the tender ran up to the “Spitfire,” 
and the Doctor was first to clamber aboard. As he 
did so Cal began a fierce muttering — though so low 
the physician could not catch it. 

“Cheek — the cheekiest cheek!” 

“Well, I don’t know,” rejoined Sumner, with a 
grin. “ I think the woman who had the mother 
who didn’t take the poison and didn’t die had the 
purest, unadulteratedest cheek of the whole shoot- 
ing match.” 

Val was in the midst of dinner preparations, but 
he paused to receive an introduction to the Doctor. 
That worthy thereupon pulled a newspaper from 
his pocket, and proceeded to bury himself in its con- 
tents, while Sumner graphically portrayed to Val 
the trip to Beeg, and Mrs. Bones’ reception. Cal 
quietly began overhauling once more the overcoat 
that had come so strangely into his possession. 

“Where’d you get that coat?” demanded Sum- 
ner, presently, having completed his story. 

“Ever see it before? ” queried Cal, leisurely hold- 
ing it up to view. 

“Yes; saw it on the catboat. Whose is it?” 

“When did you first see it? ” 

“When we started back from Beeg Island.” 

“Was it in the boat before we encountered the 
steamer?” asked Cal, now speaking eagerly. 

“No,” was Sum’s decided response. “I don’t 
recall seeing it until I came back with Dr. Pilsing- 
ham.” 


54 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


“Well,” returned Cal, slowly, “I found it flung 
under the cockpit seat just after you left me; but I 
could swear it wasn’t in the boat when we started 
from Bones Island, or I should not have brought it 
here.” 

“Could it have fallen from the steamer? ” asked 
Val, becoming interested. “Were you near enough 
for such a thing to be possible? ” 

“Near enough! ” retorted Sumner, with mild 
sarcasm. “We were so near we might have climbed 
aboard if we hadn’t been paralyzed. I’ll bet 
dollars to doughnuts the coat fell from the steamer. 
Come now.” 

“I see no other possible explanation,” was Cal’s 
quiet response. “But tell me,” he continued, 
“what you make of this.” 

He pulled a slip of paper from an inside pocket 
of the overcoat. 

“That’s a queer place for a pocket,” Val said, as 
his eyes followed Cal’s action. 

The pocket was sewed to the inside of the lining, 
near the bottom of the coat, and as the lining was 
unfastened at the bottom, it could be easily reached 
if one was aware of its existence. It was a deft 
piece of work that Cal had just stumbled on by the 
merest accident. 

The slip of paper contained a few lines scrawled 
unevenly in lead pencil: — 

“Jot: Dug up evergreen plant Sunday night. Just 
your size. Load ‘ Rover’ at Stevens’ to-night, one.” 


THE MYSTERIOUS OVERCOAT 55 


The piece of paper went the rounds of the trio, 
and Cal sat down and leaned against the coaming, 
with an odd look in his eyes. 

“Know what it means ?” Val asked. 

“Wish I did,” returned Cal. 

“Fudge!” Sum ejaculated. “I call that dead 
easy.” 

“Well,” said Cal, “tell us about it.” 

“It means,” said Sumner, triumphantly, “that 
the fellow dug up some evergreen shrubbery Sunday 
night, which is just what this Jot wants; and he’s 
going to load his dog at one o’clock to-night.” 

“And when the dog is nicely loaded, will he go and 
shoot some one with it?” inquired Cal, as an amused 
smile played over his face. 

“I didn’t see anything about a dog,” said Val, 
picking up the coat and inspecting it curiously. 

“Didn’t you see the word Rover? ” retorted Sum, 
anxious to uphold his theory. 

“Yes,” was Val’s absent response. He was 
thinking of something else. 

“Well, that’s the dog.” 

Carroll uttered a loud laugh, whereat Sumner fell 
upon him in mock wrath, and gave him a mild 
thumping. 

“Jerusalem!” Val ejaculated, a moment later. 
“Now we know who owns the coat.” 

“Who?” demanded Cal and Sum, starting up 
instantly. 

“Here’s the owner’s name just where the tailor 


56 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


put it,” replied Val, holding out the coat for his 
mates to see. Some tailors make a practice of at- 
taching to each garment of their manufacture the 
name of the customer and date of making. Val had 
discovered this under a fold of cloth just beneath 
the hanging strap. 

“Maj. E. J. Bangs, May 189-” read Sumner, 
aloud. “Why — why — he was on the yacht that 
backed out of the dock on us ” 

“The 4 Sea Rover,’ ” interjected Cal, his eyes grow- 
ing big. 

“His second name is Jotham, ‘Jot’ for short,” 
added Val. “And I don’t think ‘ Rover ’ means a 
dog.” 

“You bet it doesn’t!” exclaimed Sumner, ener- 
getically. “It means the yacht.” 

“And the whole thing means — what?” Val 
gazed seriously from Cal to Sumner, and back again. 

Sumner’s eyes suddenly shone with the light of a 
new idea. 

“I have it,” he almost shouted. “It means this. 

“Major E. J. Bangs: dug up evergreen shrubbery 
Sunday night. It’s just what you want. Will load 
it on the ‘Sea Rover’ at Stevens’ Wharf to-night at 
one o’clock.” 

“That’s nearer correct,” Val said quietly, “but I 
tell you, fellows, we aren’t anywhere near the bottom 
of this thing yet.” 

“I think there is a good deal more hidden in the 
note,” returned Cal. “Why, for instance, in the 


THE MYSTERIOUS OVERCOAT 57 


name of common sense, should any one make so much 
of a mystery about a mess of evergreen shrubbery ?" 

“Well, we know that a box was loaded on a 
steamer at Stevens' Wharf at one o'clock this morn- 
ing," returned Val, his brows contracted, as was 
his habit when matters perplexed him. 

“Was there any shrubbery in that box?" in- 
quired Cal, with a tinge of sarcasm. 

“I don't think," retorted Val. “Too heavy. 
But what in creation is this ‘evergreen plant’? " 

“And why should they dig it up on Sunday 
night?” broke in Sumner. 

“And pay a man a hundred dollars for the job, 
and caution him to keep mum ? " Cal queried, 
mystified. 

These and many other questions that none could 
answer followed each other in quick succession, until 
Val finally capped the climax. 

“ One thing is sure, fellows, I recognize the familiar 
voice on the steamer last night." 

“Whose was it?" Cal asked. “Not " 

“That’s just whose it was," anticipated Val. 
“Bangs!" 

“But Bangs is camping out at Pod Island," ob- 
jected Cal. 

“He’s doing lots of things nowadays, it would 
appear," was the sententious reply, “but this is neither 
eating dinner nor getting to Harpsboro." 

He turned suddenly to resume dinner preparations, 
and encountered the eager gaze of the physician, who 


58 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


had been completely forgotten by the trio in their 
eager discussion. Manifestly the Doctor had been 
an interested listener to the conversation regarding 
the mysterious note. He dropped his eyes abruptly 
when he found himself observed, and retired again 
behind the newspaper. 

Dinner was soon ready. The Doctor, at VaPs 
invitation, joined them, and all fell to with a relish. 

Dr. Pilsingham at first appeared nervous and 
reserved, but under the influence, apparently, of 
good food and lively conversation, he thawed con- 
siderably. He finally condescended to inquire the 
identity of his entertainers, and the plan of their 
cruise, and even ascertained that they purposed to 
stop that night at Harpsboro to pick up Farleigh 
Hartwell. 

Scarcely was the repast ended when the rising tide 
started the “ Spitfire” from the sand-bar. The wind 
still holding fresh, less than half an hour enabled the 
“Spitfire” to land the Doctor at Beeg Island landing. 
As the physician’s lank figure clambered to the top 
of the wharf, Sumner improved the opportunity to 
snap his pocket kodak at the person who had played 
a considerable part in the day’s happenings. 

“I’ll bet he actually half believes we put up a job 
on him, and that the Bones Island business was a 
hoax,” Cal chuckled, as he watched the long-limbed 
disciple of ^Esculapius stride away. 

The sloop had hauled out from the landing, and 
was running free down the channel before Val gave 


THE MYSTERIOUS OVERCOAT 59 


utterance to a remark that was virtually a reply to 
CaPs statement. 

“Hoax or not, I’ll bet that Doctor could tell some- 
thing about the ‘evergreen plant’ if he tried.” 

“Why ?” demanded his chums in a breath. 

“Because I caught him looking at us with a very 
odd expression on his face just as we wound up our 
discussion about the note.” 

This was a fresh subject , for speculation, and 
lasted for some time — until, in fact, the wind died 
again to a breath, and left the yacht rolling lazily 
on the glassy swell between Hope and Pod islands, 
three miles from Beeg landing, and still a considerable 
distance from Harpsboro. 

The Beeg Island landing, however, was not visible 
from where they lay, near the southern extremity of 
Pod Island, owing to the fact that Hope Island — 
which they had been obliged to skirt, — lay in the 
way. 

“That confounded Mrs. Bones queered things 
for us,” grumbled Sumner, who lay on his back on 
the forward deck, watching the flapping sails. “If 
she hadn’t taken up so much time, we could have got 
to Harpsboro before the wind died.” 

“How could she have bothered us if we hadn’t 
run ashore on her island? ” slyly queried Cal. 

“There’ll be no Harpsboro to-night, my hearties,” 
announced the captain, before this discussion could 
get under way. 

“What’ll we do?” asked Sumner. 


60 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


“Run into that little cove on Pod Island shore, 
and anchor for the night. Possibly, though, if the 
wind comes up after supper, we can run down by 
moonlight. 

“Mr. Morse,” he continued, in a commanding 
tone. 

“Sir?” replied Cal, saluting. 

“The starboard watch will clear away the tender, 
get out a bowline, and tow the yacht into the cove 
ahead.” 

“Very good, sir.” 

These instructions were carried out, while Val 
lowered and furled the sails. A quarter of an hour 
later the yacht let go an anchor in a small, well- 
sheltered cove near the southern end of Pod Island, 
within stone’s throw of a narrow beach and the 
dense growth of trees that grew down to it. 

A brook that fell in a miniature waterfall down the 
side of a jutting ledge, and emptied into the cove, 
attracted Val’s attention. To save the supply 
already on board, he instructed Sumner to go ashore 
with the small jug, and fill it at the brook, if that 
water seemed fit to drink. 

Shortly after Sumner returned with a full jug, and 
highly excited. 

“Say,” he exclaimed, in a suppressed tone, as he 
clambered aboard, “who do you think I saw on 
shore?” 

“Oh, the President of the United States, prob- 
ably,” returned Cal, indifferently. 


THE MYSTERIOUS OVERCOAT 


61 


“No, sir,” was Sum’s unlooked-for response, “it 
was Dr. Pilsingham, skulking among the trees, 
watching us.” 

If a bombshell had dropped in the midst of the 
cove it could hardly have caused more surprise than 
this declaration. 


CHAPTER VI 


THE MAJOR CALLS FOR HIS OVERCOAT, AND SUMNER 
HAS A MISADVENTURE 

In fact, so great was the impression produced by 
Sumner’s declaration that Dr. Pilsingham — whom 
they had left not long since at Beeg Island — 
was skulking among the trees on Pod Island, watch- 
ing them, that it elicited expressions of incredulity 
from his mates. 

“You are certainly dreaming, Sum,” was Car- 
roll’s decided response. “We left the Doctor at 
Beeg not more than three hours ago. How could 
he get here without our knowing it?” 

“It’s some one else, of course,” exclaimed Val, his 
excitement subsiding at this idea. “A case of mis- 
taken identity.” 

“As sure as I stand here it was the Doctor,” Sum- 
ner declared, with deep earnestness. “I could tell 
him a mile.” 

“What was he doing?” asked Cal, who was help- 
ing Val get supper. 

“Just as I climbed the ledge to fill the jug from the 
brook, there was a loud snapping of twigs in the 
woods close by. I caught sight of a face peer- 
ing out — the Doctor’s face, I tell you — and it 
62 


MAJOR CALLS FOR HIS OVERCOAT 63 


disappeared like a flash a moment later. Then 
he hurried off through the woods as fast as he 
could.” 

“ Which way?” 

“ North, I should judge.” 

“If it is the Doctor, what is he doing here?” 
queried Cal. 

“It is the Doctor, I tell you,” Sum stoutly reit- 
erated. 

“Then why is he afraid to show himself?” asked 
Val. “Hasn’t the Doctor as good a right on Pod 
Island as we?” 

“Don’t ask me to explain it,” retorted Sumner, 
“but I believe it has something to do with the ‘ever- 
green mystery.’ ” 

“Great Scott!” was Val’s explosive ejaculation. 
“Perhaps you are right. Boys, I’m going ashore 
to see if that is the Doctor!” 

“I’m with you, then,” declared the mate of the 
“Spitfire,” dropping the supper preparations. 

“If it is possible to get any light on this funny 
business, I propose to get it,” Cal added, as he hur- 
riedly followed Val into the tender. 

“I’ll put you ashore, fellows, and then finish 
getting supper,” declared Sumner, highly elated at 
the prospect of a little excitement. “Keep to the 
north through the woods, or along the shore, and 
you ought to come across the Doctor somewhere.” 

Sumner landed his mates, and they plunged 
hastily into the woods. Then he returned to the 


64 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


yacht, and took up the supper preparations, which 
were not very far advanced. 

“The Major’s camp is on this island,” he mused, 
as he dodged into the cabin for the egg pail and the 
skillet. “I wonder where it is, and if the boys will 
come across it?” 

The oil stove had been previously placed on the 
cockpit seat. Cal had lighted it, and with the in- 
tention of making corn chowder, had placed a small 
kettle over it. The can of corn, unopened, he had 
thoughtlessly put inside the kettle, and in the ex- 
citement of going ashore to look for the supposed 
Doctor, allowed it to remain. 

For the time being Sum paid no attention to it. 
He decided that scrambled eggs would go well 
after the day’s work. Unconscious of the fact that 
the kettle was getting hot over the stove, and that the 
can within it was absorbing a goodly portion of the 
heat, Sumner placed the skillet on the cockpit seat 
opposite the stove, pulled half a dozen eggs from the 
pail, wiped off the sawdust, and deposited them 
in the skillet. 

An unexpected hail came from the shore. 

“Yacht ahoy!” 

Hastily setting down the egg pail, Sum looked 
about him. The cove was nearly circular in shape, 
with an entrance perhaps fifty feet in width between 
two curving promontories. The northernmost of 
these was little more than a sandy spit, without trees. 
On the extremity of this two men were standing. 
They repeated the hail. 


MAJOR CALLS FOR HIS OVERCOAT 65 


“ Halloo the shore,” responded Sum, and muttered 
to himself, “We won’t have to hunt far for the Major, 
for here he is.” 

Sumner did not, however, recognize the Major’s 
companion. 

“Is that Brandon’s yacht?” called Bangs. 

“Yes,” responded Sum. “Is that Major Bangs?” 

“That’s just who it is,” was the reply. “I wish 
to see you, Mr. Brandon.” 

“After his overcoat, likely,” muttered Sumner, 
under his breath. 

“Brandon isn’t here.” 

“Isn’t there?” queried Bangs, evincing some 
surprise. He was not more than a hundred feet 
distant, and in the calm it was comparatively easy 
to carry on conversation. 

“No, he is not here,” retorted Sumner, rather 
shortly. 

“Where is he, then?” persisted Bangs. “I want 
to see him.” 

“He’s gone away,” was the indefinite answer. 

“When will he be back?” 

“Oh, sometime before morning, I guess. What 
do you want, anyhow?” 

“Who is talking?” asked Bangs, fidgeting about 
on the edge of the sand spit. 

“Parker.” 

“Well, Mr. Parker,” went on Bangs, in a per- 
suasive tone, “do you know anything about an over- 
coat of mine— a light brown one?” 


66 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


“Is that your overcoat we picked up?” said Sum, 
in simulated surprise. “How did you know we had 
it?” 

“If you’ll kindly bring it over here, Mr. Parker,” 
responded the Major, “I’ll tell you all about it.” 

Sumner knew of no reason why the coat should 
not be returned to its owner, and since Bangs prom- 
ised an explanation that might throw some light on a 
mystery, he lost no time in getting the garment from 
the cabin, and setting himself ashore in the tender. 
The note had been returned to the secret pocket, 
after Val had taken a copy of it, in the hope that 
sometime this perplexing matter might be explained. 

Major Bangs recognized the yachtsman before he 
was halfway to land. 

“Think I saw you yesterday, Mr. Parker,” he 
exclaimed pleasantly, as the boat grounded. 

“Did you lose the coat off the ‘Merryconeag’ ?” 
began Sum, as he passed the garment to its owner. 

“Yes; were you in the sailboat that we came so 
near running down?” 

Sumner replied in the affirmative, and then went on : 

“But I fail to see how you knew we had the coat. 
Did you know that it fell overboard into the sail- 
boat?” 

“Hadn’t the faintest idea of such a thing,” laughed 
the Major. “To be honest with you, I did not miss 
it till the steamer had passed Beeg Island. But I 
had an attack of my old enemy, heart disease, 
shortly after landing here, about the middle of the 


MAJOR CALLS FOR HIS OVERCOAT 67 


afternoon. My friend Jones ran over to Beeg in his 
steam-yacht for my doctor, Pilsingham, and brought 
him over to attend me. He was the man who told 
me you had my coat. ,, 

“That accounts for it,” exclaimed Sumner. “I 
wondered how you knew. The Doctor made good 
time getting over here, for we left him at Beeg Island 
ourselves about three o’clock.” 

“So he said — in fact, that is how he knew you 
had the coat, through being on your yacht. He 
reached here not later than five o’clock. 

“There goes the yacht back with him now,” he 
continued, suddenly pointing out across the channel 
that separated Pod and Hope islands. A steam- 
yacht was gliding westward, a short distance from 
the group. Sumner recognized the “Sea Rover.” 

“I say, Patterson, there’s your chance to get over 
to Beeg and take the last regular steamer up from the 
city to-night. 

“ Mr. Patterson has just received word of the seri- 
ous illness of his only son,” added Bangs, in a low tone. 

“Can’t you hail her?” queried Bangs’ com- 
panion, anxiously scrutinizing the yacht. “If it’s 
a possible thing I must reach the city to-night.” 

The Major put two fingers to his lips and gave 
vent to three penetrating whistles — whistles that 
might have been heard a mile away. 

The yacht answered by three toots, and slowing 
down, swept around in a broad curve and headed for 
the cove. 


68 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


Sumner watched her approach with considerable 
interest. He wondered if the “evergreen plant ” 
was still aboard. But at the same time he cast 
furtive glances at Bangs, who was fumbling at the 
pockets of his overcoat, in apparent absent-mind- 
edness. When he thought no one was looking the 
Major reached for the secret pocket, and a distinct 
look of satisfaction appeared on his features when he 
discovered the mysterious missive still there. Lay- 
ing the coat over his arm, he slowly and with apparent 
carelessness tore the note into minute fragments, 
and threw them into the water. 

A short distance offshore the yacht came to a stop. 
A man with a big nose hailed from the forward 
deck. 

“What do you want?” 

“Would like to have you take a gentleman over 
to Beeg Island for me,” called the Major. 

“Certainly. Will you send him aboard, or shall 
we send a boat?” 

“Get into my boat, Mr. Patterson,” said Sumner. 
“HI set you aboard.” 

“HI be greatly obliged to you,” replied the Aider- 
man to Sum’s proposal, stepping into the tender. 
“Good-by, Major. I am sorry to be forced to leave 
you so soon.” 

“And I am no less sorry to lose you, Patterson,” 
returned Bangs, with a great show of sympathy. 
“Our camp-out together has started in poorly; but 
I hope you’ll find the lad O.K. when you get home. 


MAJOR CALLS FOR HIS OVERCOAT 69 


“Come back just as soon as you possibly can,” he 
continued, walking along the shore as the boat 
forged ahead. “And you, Mr. Parker, since you 
won’t find me here on your return, let me give you 
many thanks for the overcoat, and your kindness in 
putting my friend aboard -the yacht. Remember 
me to your companions, and tell them not to forget 
my camp is on Pod Island. My latch-string is 
always out.” 

Bangs disappeared among the trees. The tender 
shot out through the inlet, and was soon alongside 
the “Sea Rover.” 

With many thanks, and an offer of payment — 
which Sumner refused — Alderman Patterson 
clambered aboard the steam-yacht. The man with 
the big nose came along and gave the Alderman an 
assisting hand. The yacht at once backed off and 
resumed her course, while Sumner rowed leisurely 
back, reflecting upon what had just occurred. 

Still cogitating, he made the tender fast once 
more, and stepped into the cockpit to resume supper 
preparations. The moment he reached the center 
of the standing room there came a sudden loud re- 
port from the direction of the oil stove. It sent all 
his cogitations flying. 

A roar like a small cannon sounded in his ears. 
He staggered back, confused, and as a shower of hot 
canned corn descended upon him, he half sat, half 
fell, plump into the skillet containing the eggs. 


CHAPTER VII 


THE “SEA ROVER ” REPORTS BAD NEWS 

The can of corn, reposing quietly on the lighted 
oil stove, had thought it time to make its presence 
both known and felt. Having appropriated a large 
share of the heat emitted by the stove, it had gotten 
up a very creditable amount of steam pressure. 

Just at the moment Sumner set foot in the standing 
room, the pressure became too great for the tin, and 
with a report like a small cannon the top of the can 
was blown skyward, followed by the greater portion 
of the corn, which promptly fell again in a shower 
upon Sumner and the yacht. 

When he recovered from his momentary surprise, 
Sumner found himself physically unhurt, with the 
exception of sundry hot spots on his hands from the 
scalding corn. But, oh, those eggs! 

They had crackled loudly as he sat down, but he 
knew that great as had been the damage done them, 
the damage done his duck trousers was still greater. 
Rising gingerly from his seat in the skillet, with egg- 
shells dropping and yellow yolks making fantastic 
stripes down his trouser legs in obedience to the law 
of gravitation, he started for a towel to wipe away 
the wreck. 


70 


SEA ROVER” REPORTS BAD NEWS 71 


At this inopportune moment there came a hail 
from the shore. Val and Cal had returned. 

“Yes, I’ll come for you in a minute. Just hold 
on, won’t you?” 

He wiped away as much of the dripping egg as he 
could, and without stopping for further repairs pulled 
the tender ashore and took aboard his mates. 

“Who fired that gun?” was Val’s first query. 

“Yes,” went on Cal, curiously, “did you just fire 
off the cannon?” 

“You’ll think a cannon has been fired when you 
get aboard,” responded Sum, ruefully. “The next 
time you go off and leave a tight can of corn or any- 
thing else on a lighted stove, just notify me, please, 
so I can stand from under.” 

“By George!” exclaimed Cal. “Did I leave that 
can on the stove?” 

“I should rather say yes.” 

“And it blew up?” 

“Well, somewhat so. Just look at me.” 

Sumner stood up and revolved before his mates. 

“What have you got on you?” Val asked. 

“Egg,” replied Sumner, laconically. 

“Did the eggs blow up, too?” queried Cal, begin- 
ning to smile. “ I didn’t leave any eggs in the kettle.” 

“The eggs were in the skillet,” retorted Sumner, 
rather glumly. 

“I don’t see where the eggs came in,” Val ex- 
claimed wonderingly. 

“They didn’t come in, Val, they came on," re- 


72 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


torted Cal, mischievously. “HI bet a cent that 
when the corn can exploded Sumner sat down in 
the skillet. Isn’t that so, Sum?” 

“Pretty near,” was Sumner’s reluctant admis- 
sion, “but ” 

But nothing more was necessary to convulse his 
chums with laughter. The gingerly manner in 
which Sumner sat upon the thwart, his sour ex- 
pression, added to the appearance of his ducks, left 
nothing wanting to raise a laugh that rang long and 
loud, and when they boarded the yacht, Cal shook 
so that he nearly fell into the water. 

“The yacht looks as though she had suffered from 
a comnonade,” he said, after a critical stare about, 
as soon as he regained breath. And then Val and 
Cal roared again, while Sumner presently concluded 
to take it all in good part, and laughed as vocifer- 
ously as his chums, for it was comical, even though 
he was the butt of the joke. 

“But why didn’t you take the can off the stove, 
Sum?” inquired Cal, when he had pulled himself 
together and began to clean up the scattered con- 
tents of the exploded can. 

“Because I was interrupted before I had time to 
see it. Major Bangs called for his overcoat. By the 
way, did you find the Doctor?” 

Sumner was changing his trousers. He suddenly 
recalled the object of the boys’ errand ashore, and 
paused in the operation of adjusting a suspender 
strap to make his inquiry. 


“SEA ROVER” REPORTS BAD NEWS 73 


“Not a sign of him,” said Val, who had again 
taken up the supper preparations. “We found the 
Major’s camp locked up, on the other side of the 
island; but not a soul anywhere that we went.” 

“You said Bangs came for his coat,” reminded 
Cal. “ Did you give it to him, and what did he say ? ” 

Sumner related his encounter with Bangs and 
Alderman Patterson. His excellent memory enabled 
him to repeat the conversation almost verbatim. 
Bangs’ appearance, his companion, his demand for 
the overcoat, and his explanation of the source of 
his knowledge regarding its whereabouts — in fact, 
every detail of the whole affair was carefully 
gone over by the trio, and thoughtfully weighed in a 
vain endeavor to fathom what they now termed the 
“evergreen mystery.” 

The talk lasted through supper, and for an hour 
after, while they sat at ease in the gathering dusk. 
It was close upon nine o’clock when Cal wound up 
the subject by suddenly exclaiming: — 

“Jinks, but that’s very funny!” 

“What’s funny? ” 

“That the Major’s ‘ old enemy ’ should be heart 
disease, when he was well enough six months ago to 
get insured for a hundred thousand dollars. Eh, 
Val?” 

“Great smoke!” exclaimed the skipper. “Did 
he say he had heart trouble, Sum? ” 

“That’s what.” 

“He didn’t have it when he took out the insur- 


74 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


ance, or the company would not have issued the 
policy,” said Val. 

“And yet it’s his ‘old enemy/ ” added Sumner. 

“And that’s what is funny/’ concluded Cal, with 
decision. 

“Well? ” said Val and Sum, in a breath. 

“I think Major Bangs is a curious man,” retorted 
Cal. “That’s all” 

The conversation went no farther, for Cal jumped 
to his feet, and, with an exclamation, pointed out 
toward the channel. 

In the obscurity loomed up a black mass flanked 
on one side by a green light and on the other by a 
red one. The sound of a churning propeller was 
audible. The black mass approached rapidly. 

“Perhaps it’s the ‘Sea Rover’ coming back from 
Beeg,” said Val, carelessly. 

“She seems to be running straight for us,” added 
Sum, wonderingly. 

The approaching craft presently slowed down, 
and came to a stop a short distance off the cove, 
though the gloom was too great to allow the boys 
to determine her identity. Next came the sound 
of oars, and a few moments later a rowboat con- 
taining two persons entered the cove, and pulled 
straight for the yacht. 

“Is that Brandon’s yacht?” asked one of the 
occupants of the rowboat, as that craft came along- 
side the “Spitfire.” The man in the stern seemed to 
be doing the talking. 


SEA ROVER” REPORTS BAD NEWS 75 


“Yes,” replied Val. “What do you want?” 

“One of your fellows is aboard our yacht, and 
he is in pretty bad shape,” was the astonishing 
reply. 

“You are mistaken,” replied Val. “Our party 
are all here.” 

The rowboat was now close alongside, and the 
man at the tiller reached for the yacht’s gunwale. 
Both of the newcomers were strangers. 

“We picked up a man fifteen minutes ago in the 
channel,” continued the spokesman. “He was 
clinging to an upturned boat, one arm broken, and 
just on the point of giving up. He managed to call 
loud enough for our lookout to hear, and we pulled 
him in. He says his name is Hartwell — Farleigh 
Hartwell.” 

“There must be some mistake,” said Cal, 
promptly, unwilling to believe such unpleasant 
news. “Farleigh Hartwell is waiting for us at 
Harpsboro.” 

“All we know is what he says himself,” retorted 
the man in the rowboat, with some impatience. 
“Our boat is the ‘Sea Rover.’ When he said he was 
out looking for you, we came at once to notify you. 
He wants you to come aboard.” 

“Two of us can go,” said Val, quietly. “Who 
shall it be?” 

“You and Cal go,” urged Sumner. “I don’t 
mind staying by the yacht.” 

“We’ll take the whole three of you,” said the 


76 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


spokesman. “We’ve plenty of room here. All come 
along.” 

“It’s our rule not to leave the yacht alone at 
night,” responded Val. “Come on, Cal.” 

“What’s to harm your craft if you leave her for 
half an hour?” inquired the stranger as the two 
boys stepped into the rowboat. 

“We don’t know, and that’s why we are going to 
leave a man aboard of her,” said Val, with decision. 
“We’ll probably be back before long, Sum,” he 
added. 

“If we should decide to take Hartwell to a doctor 
before bringing back your mates,” broke in the 
spokesman in the boat, addressing Sumner, “don’t 
you worry.” 

The boat pushed off, and was presently swallowed 
up in the dusk that hovered over the channel. The 
sound of voices soon told Sumner that the yacht 
had been reached. Then he heard the engine room 
gong sound, the propeller began to churn, and the 
black mass that represented the “Sea Rover” grew 
smaller and smaller until it became invisible. 

“They must have decided to go for the doctor 
while they were rowing out,” muttered Sum, with a 
lump rising in his throat, as he noted the promptness 
with which the yacht had started. “Poor Far- 
leigh! ” 

If the steamer went to Beeg for the doctor, it was 
impossible to say how long it would be before his 
chums returned. Sumner lighted and set in place 


“SEA ROVER” REPORTS BAD NEWS 77 


at the masthead the usual night light, and then set- 
tied himself by the cabin lamp with a favorite sea 
story. He finally fell asleep. When he awoke and 
looked at his watch, it was half-past ten o’clock. 

“The boys ought to be back,” he muttered, rising 
and going into the cockpit to reconnoiter. There were 
no signs of the “Sea Rover.” The dusk was now 
intensified by clouds that overcast the sky and ob- 
scured the moon. The wind had risen and blew 
fitfully. Its chilly dampness made Sumner shiver. 
After an exhaustive stare around, he prepared to 
reenter the cabin, when his ear caught a faint cry. 

“Help! Help!” 

Hardly audible, it came from out in the channel. 
In an instant Sumner was wide awake. He lis- 
tened intently for a repetition, and it soon came, 
faintly as before. 

“Help!” 

Sumner sprang into the tender. 

“There’s someone in trouble out there,” he mut- 
tered, as he hastily unfastened the painter. “I’m 
going to investigate, as sure as my name is Sumner 
Parker! ” 


CHAPTER VIII 


SUMNER ENCOUNTERS ADVENTURES 

Sumner Parker shipped the oars and sent the ten- 
der out through the inlet into the channel. Though 
he knew little of practical yacht sailing, in a rowboat 
he was thoroughly at home. His strong young 
muscles forced the light boat forward at a rapid rate. 

“Help! oh, help! ” 

“IPs some one in the water,” muttered Sumner, 
endeavoring to locate the source of the sound, as the 
cry was repeated. 

“Halloo!” he shouted. “Keep up, I’m coming.” 

“Help! oh, help!” The agonized cry came 
faintly again; more faintly than before, as though 
the person uttering it was yielding to exhaustion. 

Sumner again responded with shouts of encour- 
agement. Unable to discern anything on the water 
ahead, he guided the boat wholly by the sounds 
coming from the darkness, pausing frequently to 
listen. But the object of his search had now dis- 
covered that succor was at hand. The cry changed 
to a louder call. 

“This way, quick. I can’t hold on much longer.” 

After a few moments of persistent search, the ten- 
der scraped against an object in the water. A voice 
gasped faintly — 


78 


SUMNER ENCOUNTERS ADVENTURES 79 


“Give us a hand.” 

Sumner pulled in his oars. Leaning over the side 
he discerned a white face in the water, and a hand 
extended toward him. A few moments later he had 
succeeded in getting inboard over the stern a very 
wet and worn-out young man, who lay back on the 
thwart totally exhausted. In the dim light he ap- 
peared to be a young fellow, not much older than 
Sumner. He wore a suit of white duck, and his 
headgear was missing. This much, and the fact 
that the stranger was shivering with cold, moved 
Sumner to quick action. 

In a few moments the rowboat, with the over- 
turned canoe to which the stranger had been clinging 
dragging behind, was moving towards the “Spitfire,” 
Sumner shaping his course by the lantern hung at 
the yacht’s masthead. 

“Where are you taking me?” the rescued man 
presently asked, when he had recovered sufficient 
strength and interest in his surroundings to put the 
question. 

“To our yacht. Keep quiet and I’ll bring you out 
all right.” 

The youth seemed contented with this explana- 
tion, and made no further remarks until Sumner 
had him aboard the “Spitfire.” 

When Sum had his charge aboard the yacht, the 
wet clothes were at once stripped off. Then fol- 
lowed a brisk rubbing with dry towels, and the 
donning of some of Sumner’s extra clothing. By 


80 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


the time this was done, water was hot on the oil 
stove, and a huge bowlful of that compound knowm 
as ginger tea was prepared, and devoured to the 
last drop by the rescued youth. 

“Jolly, but that feels immense !” exclaimed the 
convalescent, as strength and spirits began to re- 
turn. “And you’re a trump, Mr. — Mr. ” 

“Parker,” supplemented Sumner, heartily shaking 
the hand that was extended. 

“My name’s Cheney Killen,” said that youth, 
who was a very good-looking sort of a fellow, now 
that he was dried and warmed. “How did I get 
into that scrape? ” he continued, noting the look of 
inquiry in Sum’s eyes. “Oh, just through my 
beastly recklessness; but, by George! my folks will 
be frantic about me,” he broke out suddenly. 
“.What time is it, please?” 

“After eleven.” 

“And I’ve been soaking around in the water ever 
since nine,” groaned young Killen. “Oh, ’twas 
horrible. I might have gotten ashore if I could have 
only seen the shore; but I was lost — lost and losing 
strength every minute. That little cockle shell — 
ugh! no more canoes for me on salt water. Where 
am I, anyway?” 

“You’re on the yacht ‘Spitfire,’ anchored near 
Pod Island.” 

“Then I’m pretty near home, after all, for I 
board over at Hope Island. 

“Say, Mr. Parker,” he went on, “you’ve done 


SUMNER ENCOUNTERS ADVENTURES 81 


me one great good turn already, and I hate to pre- 
sume on your kindness, but my parents will be hor- 
ribly worried about me. Would you mind rowing 
me over? I haven’t the gumption to do it yet 
myself.” 

A few minutes later the tender, with Sum at the 
oars and Cheney Killen in the stern, wrapped in a 
heavy overcoat, and his discarded wet clothing also 
aboard, was feeling her way across the channel 
toward Hope Island, while the canoe, emptied of 
its water, was towed behind. 

Since the steamer landing on Hope Island was on 
the farther side of the island, it was fully an hour 
before Sumner had landed his charge, waited until 
the loaned clothing had been returned to him — for 
he could hardly go on the cruise without it — and 
was pulling back to the yacht. Skirting Hope 
Island, in due time he cleared the northern point, 
and struck out across the channel toward Pod 
Island. But to his dismay, he was unable to descry 
the light at the “Spitfire’s” masthead, and then, 
without warning, a dense bank of fog swooped 
down and enveloped him. 

Without a compass, with only his sense of direction 
for a guide, Sum rowed doggedly on. He had never 
been caught in a fog before, and as the channel was 
not over a third of a mile wide, and the Pod Island 
shore a long one, felt certain he would bring up on it 
somewhere. This accomplished, he could easily 
skirt it till the cove was reached. 


82 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


But after fifteen minutes of steady rowing, he was 
apparently no nearer his destination than at first. 
Hoping to catch the sound of surf, he paused to listen 
intently. Save for the distant hooting of a steam 
fog horn, the dense vapor seemed to shut out all 
sounds. 

“Well,” he muttered wearily, again resuming 
the oars, “it can’t be much farther.” But at the 
end of another quarter hour he was apparently as far 
from land as ever. With a feeling of disgust and 
apprehension, it came over him that he was lost. 

“And I may be within a few rods of Pod Island, 
and not know it,” he muttered. 

He uttered several loud halloos, to which, how- 
ever, there was no response. 

“Confound the luck!” he ejaculated in dismay. 
“I might go on rowing around here all night and 
not get ashore, and find myself when the fog lifted 
perhaps close to land, or maybe miles out to sea.” 

He knew, however, at this time, that the boat was 
still among the islands, for the deep-sea swell did 
not reach him. 

Making a hurried calculation, he decided the tide 
was ebbing. This in itself was enough to occasion 
disquiet, since the currents might sweep him out 
between the islands without his fully realizing it. 

“I’ll let her drift awhile, and then see what’s up,” 
he finally decided. Pulling in the oars, he donned 
the overcoat which Killen had worn, and sat down 
in the stern. So dense was the fog that one could 


SUMNER ENCOUNTERS ADVENTURES 83 


almost cut it, and so intense the gloom that the boat’s 
bow was indistinguishable. Occasionally a gust of 
damp wind struck Sumner, but it seemed to have no 
perceptible effect upon the fog. 

After many minutes of this, during which Sum 
kept his ears strained for the slightest sound of 
swashing surf, he was rewarded. Just the faintest 
“ wash- wash” came through the darkness, appar- 
ently off to starboard, as the boat then lay. Louder 
and louder it grew, till its character was unmis- 
takable. 

Heading the tender for the sound, Sum soon ran 
it ashore on a pebbly beach. Pulling the boat well 
up out of reach of the water, he started inland to 
ascertain his whereabouts. At the top of the beach 
he was confronted by a steep bush-covered bank, 
up which he forced his way with difficulty until 
he accidentally stumbled into a well-defined path. 
Arrived at the top, his eyes immediately caught sight 
of a bright glow in the fog ahead. As he approached 
the outlines of a window became visible ; but Sumner 
had not watched it for more than an instant before 
he leaped to a conclusion. The light streaming 
forth from the window was not lamplight. 

“That house is afire!” he exclaimed, hurrying for- 
ward. 

Out from the window, like a lurid eye in the dark- 
ness, flashed a stream of ruddy light, increasing 
momentarily in intensity as the dancing flames 
within gained progress. 


84 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


A moment later Sum reached the window and peered 
in. The interior of the building was a seething mass 
of flames, though as yet the only external sign was 
the light through the window, and the muffled 
crackling of the fire. The building was a small one, 
evidently a fisherman’s shanty. The interior was 
a single unplastered room. A small stove stood in 
one corner, a table in another. There were shelves 
against the wall opposite the window; fishing poles 
leaned in a corner, and decoy ducks hung near 
them. 

All these things Sumner’s eyes grasped in an in- 
stant, as on a dark night a landscape is momentarily 
revealed by a lightning flash. 

In the center of the floor was a long box, and upon 
it rested an object covered with a blanket. The 
floor was a seething sea of flame. It burned like a 
tank of oil, the fire rising and falling in waves about 
the object in the center, and sweeping up the walls. 
In a few moments more the flames would burst out, 
and there was no hope of saving any of the shanty’s 
contents. But what was that object lying on the 
box in the center of the room ? Some one asleep ? 

The thought aroused Sumner’s every energy. In 
mad haste he hurried to the door, and threw his 
weight impetuously against it. It was fastened, 
and would not yield. Again and again he shook it, 
shouting loudly to the possible inmate as he did so; 
but the stout door did not give way. 

A burst of light overhead announced that the fire 


SUMNER ENCOUNTERS ADVENTURES 85 


had broken through the roof. In less time than it 
takes to tell it, a stream of flame was shooting heaven- 
ward, and the heat in the vicinity of the shanty 
speedily became unbearable. But before this, Sumner 
abandoned his attempts to force the door, and returned 
to the window. Strangely enough, the heat within 
had not shattered the glass. Seizing a board from the 
ground, with one swoop he smashed every pane. 

“ Halloo !” he called loudly. “Wake up, for 
your life! ” 

The answer was a burst of flame that made him 
stagger back, but ere he went he saw a sight that 
thrilled him with horror. 

The covering had burned away, and the form of a 
man lay revealed upon the box. In that last glance 
Sum saw this form writhe convulsively. The arms, 
which had been folded across the breast, were 
raised with a jerk and dropped till they hung down 
to the floor. The face turned toward the window, 
and the last glimpse that Sumner caught was of the 
features — pallid, with closed eyes, unconscious in 
that seething sea of flame and smoke. 

And now the roof was a mass of fire. The heat 
forced Sumner back. In a daze he walked to a tree 
a short distance away, and leaning wearily against it, 
watched the destruction of the shanty. The roof 
fell in — the sides fell in — still he watched, fasci- 
nated by the horror of the scene. When at last the 
building was naught but a mass of glowing ruins, 
with an effort he pulled his scattered wits together 


86 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


and tried to think what he should do. The piece of 
wood with which he had shattered the window was 
still in his hands. It was a portion of a box cover, 
and letters upon it caught his eye. Lifting it to 
catch the light from the burning embers, he easily 
spelled them out. 

“Maj. E. J. Bangs, Pod Island.” 


Some time later, Sumner Parker, sick at heart 
with the horror of the scene he had witnessed, pulled 
the tender slowly into the cove and boarded the 
“Spitfire.” The lettering on the box-board had told 
what island he had reached. Returning to the boat, 
he merely followed the shore to the yacht’s 
anchorage. 

The lantern was burning at the masthead, but 
there were no sounds of life on the yacht when Sum- 
ner came aboard. He made the tender fast, and, 
stepping into the cockpit, peered into the cabin. 

The swinging lamp was burning as he had left it; 
but as he noted that Val and Cal were still absent, a 
feeling of apprehension swept over him. 

“Where are the boys?” he muttered, in alarm. 

“Never mind the boys,” growled a voice behind 
him. 

The next moment he was seized in a grasp of iron, 
and forced into the cabin. The doors closed behind 
him — the companion-hatch slid shut — the lock 
snapped. He was a prisoner. 


CHAPTER IX 


SUMNER BEGINS AN INVOLUNTARY CRUISE 

For a moment Sumner was speechless with aston- 
ishment and sudden fear. He was too surprised, 
indeed, to struggle against his adversary; nor would 
it have made any difference had he done so, for the 
unknown person who had taken possession of the 
yacht had him at a complete disadvantage. Sum- 
ner could not have prevented his sudden entrance 
into the cabin to save his life. 

But he recovered his tongue and his wits at the 
same moment. He threw his weight against the 
doors. 

“Let me out!” he shouted. “Open up here, 
quick! What do you mean by this?” 

The cabin doors were made of good stuff, and the 
fastenings were strong, as they were intended to be. 
There was no yielding to all the force Sumner could 
bring to bear against them. He presently de- 
sisted his efforts, but redoubled his shouts. 

Suddenly bethinking himself of the skylight, he 
hurriedly began unloosening the fastenings, when a 
face appeared close to the glass above, and a voice 
said menacingly: — 

“Stop your noise!” 


87 


88 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


“Let me out!” cried Sumner. “Who are you, 
and what does this mean? ” 

“I’ve borrowed the boat for a pleasure trip,” 
replied the outsider, hoarsely. “Keep easy, sonny. 
Above all things keep your yawp shut. I’ve got a 
pistol here to shut it for you, if you don’t close it 
yourself.” 

The voice ceased. Sumner sat down in bewil- 
derment, and tried to think what he should do. 

“Oh, Val and Cal,” he muttered despairingly, 
“where are you, and why don’t you come? ” 

Sounds outside now indicated that the mainsail 
was going up, and the yacht heeled over slightly as 
the breeze filled the canvas. It righted presently as 
the pressure on the sail brought the bow into the 
wind, for the sheet was loose, and no one was at the 
tiller. 

Now the jib was hoisted; up came the anchor; 
and the stranger came hurrying aft. The wind, 
what there was of it, was still in the southeast. The 
yacht went off on the port tack. 

“That means he’s working out of the cove,” 
muttered Sumner, noting the heel of the yacht. 
“Where in creation does the rascal intend to go? ” 
Sumner now roused himself to action. For a 
few minutes he tried to imagine what his friend 
Jasper Jenks would have done under such circum- 
stances. Unluckily for Sumner, the author of Jas- 
per’s exciting adventures afloat and ashore had not 
placed his hero in any situation similar to the one in 


AN INVOLUNTARY CRUISE 


89 


which Sumner found himself. In a pinch like this, 
had he done so, a revenue cutter might have 
appeared, or a shooting star or a stroke of apoplexy 
have struck the villain where he stood. Providence 
might have placed a dynamite bomb in Jasper’s 
hand, with which he could have wiped his enemy 
off the face of the earth; but Providence was not so 
kind to Sumner Parker. 

There was one thing to do, and that was to stop 
the unknown man from running off with the 
4 ‘Spitfire”; but how? 

Sumner first extinguished the cabin lamp. Al- 
though from his position at the tiller the steersman 
could not see through the skylight into the cabin, 
yet the tiller could be made fast, and the yacht would 
take care of herself long enough for him to make 
an inspection of his prisoner from time to time. 
Sumner did not want his movements inspected. 

Having blown out the light, he began a hunt for 
VaPs revolver, which it suddenly occurred to him 
was on board. He believed it was in one of the 
cabin lockers, and thought it would be easy to lay 
hands on it at once; but several minutes’ fumbling 
in the dark left him no better off than at first. Sum- 
ner finally concluded that Val must have it on his 
person. He could not find even the cartridges. 

Before his hurried search was completed the 
“Spitfire” had emerged from the cove, the helmsman 
had trimmed in his sheets, and headed the yacht 
more into the south, still on the port tack. 


90 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


“Can he be running for Stroudport? ” queried 
Sumner, anxiously. “He wouldn’t be such a fool.” 

He gave up hunting for the revolver. It now 
occurred to him that there was a sliding door in the 
forward cabin bulkhead, which led into the forepeak. 
There was, also, a small hatch on the forward port 
deck which also opened into the forepeak. 

Here was a way of exit. Now should he make his 
way out, leap overboard before the unknown should 
stop him, and swim for shore and personal safety, 
leaving the yacht in the hands of the robber, or 
“pirate,” as Sum mentally denominated him? Or 
should he gain the deck, taking such weapon as he 
might find in the forepeak, and, awaiting a favorable 
opportunity, make an onslaught on the enemy? 

For personal reasons the first course seemed pref- 
erable, although there was little to cheer in the 
thought of a swim in the chilly water at that time 
of night. 

But feelings of responsibility for the yacht’s 
safety finally overcame his desire for escape. He 
slid back the panel in the bulkhead, and crept into 
the forepeak. This was a small space in the ex- 
treme forward part of the yacht, and was so well 
filled with boxes of provision, spare canvas, rope, a 
spare anchor, and other articles, that Sumner had 
considerable difficulty in reaching the hatch at all. 

He had to shift the forepeak’s contents consid- 
erably to make a passage, but finally, on his hands 
and knees, reached a position immediately beneath 


AN INVOLUNTARY CRUISE 


91 


the hatch. From among the miscellany he secured 
a stout club, which appeared to be a spare tiller, 
and had also run across the brass saluting cannon, 
which had been put below during the day. 

For the moment he was fired with the idea of can- 
nonading his enemy, but gave up the project the 
next moment, since he had no missiles for the piece, 
even should he be able to find the powder. 

While he had been considering this idea, the yacht 
came about on the starboard tack. She had 
reached the southern end of the island, and was 
standing out to sea. The thought filled Sumner 
with great alarm, although the new position of the 
“ Spitfire” was more favorable for his exit from the 
hatchway. With the yacht on the starboard tack, 
her mainsail would help to conceal him from the 
helmsman. 

Sumner pushed up the hatch and slid it off upon 
the deck, with as little noise as possible. Then he 
paused to listen. There was no sound save the 
splash of water and the seething at the yacht’s cut- 
water. Apparently the “pirate” was at the tiller. 
Sumner next laid his club out, and then carefully 
squeezed through the aperture and got on deck. 

Before he could make any further movement 
there came a quick step behind, and his arms were 
pinioned to his sides by a pair of hands that gripped 
like iron. All his struggles were futile. His 
captor held on tightly, turned his captive around, 
and forcibly shoved him toward the cockpit. 


92 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


“Help!” shouted Sumner, with the full force of 
his lungs, suddenly realizing that a cry for aid 
might be productive of good results. “Help! 
Help! ” 

“Save your wind!” adjured Sumner's captor, 
gruffly, though he did not seem to mind the outcry. 
“I’m not going to kill you. I want to have a 
talk.” 

In short order Sumner was bundled into the cock- 
pit, and sat down with a thump near the stern- 
sheets. Not till then did he get a glimpse of his 
captor, and even then it was so dark that the closest 
scrutiny revealed little. In the dusk the “pirate” 
looked to be a thick-set man of above average height ; 
his clothing was dark in color, and a slouch hat was 
pulled down over his eyes. 

But there was a certain air about the man that 
seemed strangely familiar, though at the moment 
Sumner could not connect it with any person he had 
ever seen. 

But the junior member of the “Spitfire’s ” starboard 
watch did not waste time inspecting his captor. 
Although deeply incensed at the cheeky way in 
which the yacht had been appropriated, he realized 
that it would be better to give attention to the situa- 
tion in which the “Spitfire” was placed. It was not 
an enviable one. 

When he had come aboard from the island, the 
fog had just begun to thin a trifle. Now it had 
cleared away almost completely; but the moon was 


AN INVOLUNTARY CRUISE 


93 


obscured by clouds that rendered it difficult to dis- 
cern objects accurately at any distance. 

Not far away to port was a lump of blackness that 
represented Pod Island. Sumner’s captor seemed 
to know his location well enough to keep from going 
ashore in the dimness, but the warning note of dan- 
ger came in the rapid freshening of the wind, and 
an occasional growl of thunder to westward, suggest- 
ing a squall that might swoop down in fury. 

There was another sound, too, occurring at inter- 
vals of perhaps five minutes, that came from the 
misty darkness ahead. It sounded like the report 
of a gun. Sumner had been hearing it for some 
little time, and as he sat down under the impetus of 
a push from his captor, it sounded again. 

As he caught the sound, the helmsman put the 
tiller over a trifle in an evident endeavor to head the 
craft in the exact direction whence the report had 
come. Then he turned to Sumner. 

“Why don’t you talk? ” he inquired, with a short 
laugh. “You had plenty of chin when you first 
came aboard.” 

Sumner’s first impulse had been to give the 
“pirate” a verbal “dressing down,” but suddenly 
remembering that Jasper Jenks’ favorite motto was 
“Say nothing, but saw wood,” he had awaited 
developments in silence. 

“I want you to talk,” rejoined Sumner, with a 
faint tremble in his voice. “Who are you? What 
are you going to do with the yacht ? ” 


94 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


“Why don’t you ask what I am going to do with 
you?” rejoined his companion. “Do you see 
that ? ” 

That was a revolver, and Sumner could not very 
well help seeing it, since it was stuck so closely to his 
face that he could have looked down the barrel had 
there been more light. 

“That will talk for me,” went on his captor, 
sharply, without waiting for a response. “It can 
talk to good purpose if necessary. All I want of you 
is to obey orders, and mind right up sharp. Do you 
hear? If you don’t, well” — the man laughed 
unpleasantly — “there will be something more than 
talking done, and it might be uncomfortable for one 
of us; and that’s not myself.” 

Sumner felt relieved when the pistol was pocketed 
again. Then he ventured to ask a question. 

“Where are we going? ” 

“Do you hear that noise?” asked the “pirate.” 

That noise was a repetition of the sound that had 
been coming at intervals from the thickness ahead. 

“Yes. What does it mean? ” 

“That there’s a craft out there, and I’m going 
aboard of her,” declared the helmsman. 

Sumner experienced a decided feeling of relief at 
this declaration, since it promised quick riddance of 
his unwelcome guest. Yet with every evidence of 
a squall at hand, would the departure of the “pirate” 
better his condition ? 

“What’ll become of me and the yacht? ” 


AN INVOLUNTARY CRUISE 


95 


“Sail back.” 

“Sail back?” reiterated Sumner, dismayed. 
“Why, it’s all I can do to sail her in fair weather. 
Do you hear that thunder? ” 

In his excitement Sumner grasped his companion’s 
arm appealingly. The other nodded coolly. 

“We’re going to have a heavy squall,” Sum con- 
tinued anxiously, “and I can’t sail the ‘Spitfire’ back 
to Pod Island in a squall any more than I can fly.” 

“That’s not my lookout,” was the other’s heart- 
less declaration. “I never asked you to come 
along.” 

“You are the biggest scamp unhung,” burst forth 
Sumner, in great wrath. At this moment he longed 
for the strength of a giant. How he would mop up 
the deck with the “pirate.” 

“Well, what are you going to do about it?” 
sneered his captor. 

“Haven’t decided,” was the bitter retort, 
“whether to shoot or hang you; but just listen to 
me. If you don’t get your dirty hide well warmed 
for this highway robbery — this — this piracy on 
the high seas” — which term, it occurred to him, 
was more applicable to the offense — “ then call 
my name Dennis.” 

“Shut up,” growled the stranger, sharply. “I 
can’t sail this boat and listen to you.” 

Sumner obeyed, and sullenly awaited the outcome 
of events. 

During the foregoing conversation the yacht had 


96 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


been making good headway. The increasing dis- 
tinctness with which each successive report was 
heard from ahead showed that their destination was 
close at hand. Yet fast as the yacht was traveling, 
the squall was coming faster. Nearer and nearer 
sounded the thunder, while the darkness was almost 
incessantly illumined by lightning flashes of increas- 
ing brilliancy. To crown all, the wind, that had 
been coming quite evenly from the southeast, hauled 
abruptly into the west, and began to blow in great 
gusts that careened the “Spitfire” till the seas came 
tumbling over the bow. 

An unusually heavy gust nearly laid the craft on 
her beam ends, and the helmsman, really frightened, 
put the tiller over and the yacht came swooping up 
into the wind. 

“Let go peak and throat halyards till I say stop,” 
commanded the “pirate,” hauling in on the main- 
sheet till the boom was amidships. Sumner obeyed, 
and a double reef was quickly taken in the mainsail. 

“Let’s keep her as she is till the storm strikes,” 
nervously suggested Sumner. 

“Not much. The steamer is not far away, and 
we can reach her before the squall breaks. 

“I say,” he went on. “ You got any rubber coats 
aboard ? ’Cause if you have, trot ’em out. I’m not 
going to get soaked to the skin if I can help myself.” 

He produced the cabin key, and Sum secured two 
mackintoshes, which they donned. 

With her sail area reduced the yacht behaved 


AN INVOLUNTARY CRUISE 


97 


much better. No more water came over the bow, 
but Sum suddenly bethought himself of the open 
hatch. Hastening forward to close it, he stumbled 
over the pigeon coop, cut its lashings, and placed it 
in the forepeak before the hatch was put on. 

Grasping a stay, he steadied himself against the 
plunging of the yacht and peered ahead. The gusts 
of wind were driving the thinned mist before them, 
and through the gloom he caught the gleam of two 
lights, one red, one green. Then a brilliant light- 
ning flash lit up the sea, and for an instant the white 
hull and upper works of a steamer not far distant 
stood out in startling distinctness — then vanished 
in absolute darkness. 

A moment later came the familiar flash and report 
from her direction. Sumner hurried back to the 
cockpit. 

“What steamer is that?” he asked. 

“None of your business.” 

“She’s not an eighth of a mile off,” persisted Sum- 
ner. “Just fire off your revolver and let her come 
up to us.” 

“ You want me to use up my cartridges, don’t you ? ” 

“Bother the cartridges. Don’t you hear that?” 

The wind had suddenly fallen until the yacht 
had scarce steerageway; but out of the gloom and 
mist astern sounded the whistling and shrieking of 
the coming squall. Before the helmsman could do 
more than cast an apprehensive glance behind, it 
was upon them. 


98 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


A dazzling lightning flash, coupled with a crash 
of thunder that sounded as though the world were 
cleft asunder, dazed the senses of the two in the 
“ Spitfire’s” cockpit. Then came the wind, and 
borne by it a torrent of rain. 

It struck the sails with a fierce slap that threatened 
to rip out the mast. Luckily the main-sheet was 
loose, for in the twinkling of an eye it was snatched 
from the helmsman’s hand. The boom flew out- 
board with a swish, and the yacht was relieved of 
the sudden pressure that had all but capsized her. 

Sumner managed to creep to the mainsail halyards, 
and let them go; the pirate clung fast to the tiller; 
and the “Spitfire,” with her nose deep in the surges 
from the pressure on the jib, started off like a race- 
horse. She had taken the bits in her teeth. 

As Sumner pulled desperately at the mainsail 
downhaul, the lightning revealed a picture that gave 
him a slight clue to the reason for his present 
situation. 

White against the blackness, and rapidly falling 
astern of the plunging yacht, lay the steamer — 
unmistakably the “Sea Rover,” while the man at the 
“Spitfire’s” tiller, his pale, dismayed face turned 
toward the other vessel, was none other than Jones, 
skipper of the steam-yacht. 

A moment later the “Sea Rover” was lost in the 
mists, and nothing was left but a faint hail from her 
deck, sounding like the distant cry of a demon of the 
storm. 


CHAPTER X 


SUMNER SENDS A MESSAGE HOME 

Wind-swept and drenched with driving rain, for 
some time after the striking of the squall the occu- 
pants of the “Spitfire’s” cockpit did little but hang 
on for dear life, letting the yacht have her way. 

Like a blotch of smoke the steamer went astern. 
Jones clung desperately to the tiller, and kept the 
yacht before the wind, but he was no expert in 
handling a boat like the “Spitfire” in heavy weather. 
In a fair wind he could manage a sailboat, but now 
he had temporarily lost his presence of mind. 

Gone, too, was his opportunity for getting the 
yacht’s head to the wind, for both sea and wind 
were rising so rapidly that he did not dare make the 
attempt. 

Sumner, by dint of much hard pulling, managed 
to haul down the mainsail, and passed a few gaskets 
around it. But presently all the joy passed out of his 
life, for a nausea so intense, so unspeakable, assailed 
him, that the capture of the yacht by Jones, and her 
perilous position, all became secondary matters. 
He was seasick, and so seasick. Scarcely able to 
raise his hand, for hours he lay on a cabin bunk, and, 
as he said afterwards, “wished more’n a million 
99 


100 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


times the ‘ Spitfire’ would go to the bottom so he 
could die in peace.” 

So passed the night. Morning dawned, wet, gray, 
and cheerless. It found the “ Spitfire’’ scudding 
dead before the wind, which had settled down into 
a roaring gale. Jones could not leave the tiller for 
an instant. Huge rollers chased close upon the 
yacht, momentarily threatening to swamp her. At 
least, so it seemed to Jones, who could not look 
astern without a feeling of terror. 

By noon the wind eased a little, and he left the 
tiller long enough to rout Sumner out of the cabin, 
and put him, sick as he was, in charge of it. 

“Hang on to that tiller/’ he ordered roughly, and 
while Sumner mechanically did so, Jones heated 
some coffee and opened a can of meat. He pres- 
ently brought Sumner a can filled with coffee. The 
warm drink was like a tonic, and the youth felt 
better immediately. 

As the wind continued to fall, Jones began to 
entertain hopes of getting the yacht’s head to the 
wind; and at the end of half an hour, by dint of 
judicious maneuvering, this was accomplished, and 
the “Spitfire” was plunging and dipping with her sails 
furled, an extemporized sea anchor keeping her bow 
to the wind. 

As the effect of the coffee wore away, Sumner’s 
sickness returned, and he went back to the bunk. 
Jones, also, now the yacht was in an easier position, 
and watching could serve no purpose, turned in on 


SUMNER SENDS A MESSAGE HOME 101 


the opposite bunk, and slept for hours in utter ex- 
haustion. So passed the long afternoon, and then 
night came down, black and dismal. 

Sometime during the night Sumner was aroused 
from the stupor into which he had fallen by a loud 
call from his companion, who had waked and gone 
on deck. Half dazed as he was, its forceful meaning 
startled him. 

“ Get out of there! We’re going on the rocks! ” 

Sumner dragged himself into the cockpit. As 
he emerged, a blast of the rain-laden gale smote him 
forcibly, but he paid little heed. In the dim light 
he saw Jones on the forward deck, working furiously. 
The roding used with the anchor had been detached, 
and now connected the yacht with the floating sea- 
anchor, or drag, which for hours had kept the “Spit- 
fire’s” bow to the wind. In the hope of getting out 
an anchor to keep them from going ashore, Jones 
was struggling to get spare roding from the forepeak 
to replace that already in use. 

Astern, in the direction the yacht was rapidly 
drifting, despite the drag, through the dusk gleamed 
a line of white, seemingly almost under the “Spit- 
fire’s” stern. 

But rapidly as Jones worked, the yacht drifted 
still more rapidly. He presently saw the uselessness 
of his efforts, and hurried aft. 

“It’s no use! ” he bawled in Sumner’s ear. “Look 
out for yourself when we strike!” 


102 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


Bright and clear dawned the morning. The last 
of the storm clouds were scudding away eastward, 
and little remained to tell of the storm save the heavy 
sea that broke forcefully on the rocky shore of a 
small island. 

Fast aground at the head of a cove, several hun- 
dred feet back from the line of breakers beating on the 
reef, lay the “Spitfire.” Save for a generally storm- 
swept appearance, and the loss of her tender, she 
seemed little the worse for the ordeal through which 
she had passed. 

At the last moment, when both Sumner and Jones 
momentarily expected to feel the crunch of rocks 
beneath her hull, a break appeared in the line of 
boiling surf, and borne on the turbulent breakers 
the yacht was swept through an opening in the reef 
into comparatively calm water beyond, where she 
ran aground with a shock that threw her occupants 
to the deck. 

Here, though the force of the wind was unbroken, 
that of the waves was decidedly lessened. By mid- 
night, satisfied of their safety, the “ Spitfire’s” crew 
were sleeping soundly, for the storm was virtually 
over. 

With the feeling of steady ground under him, 
Sumner soon recovered from his seasickness. Almost 
before day dawned he crept on deck, taking good 
care not to awaken Jones. It was good to see land 
again, even though it was nothing but a worthless 
mass of rocks, sand, and bushes. No signs of human 


SUMNER SENDS A MESSAGE HOME 103 


life were visible. From the head of the long and 
narrow cove in which the “Spitfire” lay stranded, the 
ground rose steeply in a ridge too high for Sumner 
to see over. Over the bow, some hundred yards 
distant, was the narrow entrance in the line of surf- 
beaten rocks, through which the yacht had so provi- 
dentially drifted. The cove was pear-shaped, the 
mouth — which represented the stem — being nar- 
row, and the head tapering nearly to a point. 

Well up toward the head of the cove, close under a 
high bank, the “Spitfire” had grounded — so near 
shore, in fact, that Sumner easily jumped the dis- 
tance. Over rocks and through bushes he worked 
his way to the top of the ridge, and there took a 
comprehensive survey of the island. 

It was small, and uninhabited; rather circular in 
shape, and not much over half a mile in diameter. 
The ridge ran through it from north to south — as 
he determined by the sun, now rising — and looking 
down at the yacht, Sumner noted that the cove pretty 
evenly divided that portion of the island that lay to 
the east of the ridge. 

Other islands came into view as the sun ate up 
the mists. To the northward, separated by a nar- 
row strip of water, loomed a small one with an enor- 
mous mass of stone rising from its center — a mass 
that was a very good reproduction of the body of a 
huge horse. That island seemed as deserted as the 
one on which he stood; but several miles to the 
westward was another shore, and although no houses 


104 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


were visible, smoke was distinctly to be seen rising 
from trees that lined the water. 

His survey ended, Sumner wasted no time in com- 
miserating himself on the unpleasant outlook. He 
had a scheme for ultimate relief in mind, and now 
hastened to put it into operation. 

He quietly boarded the yacht. Jones was still 
soundly asleep. Without disturbing him, Sumner 
obtained his kodak and developing outfit, and 
some writing materials, from the cabin. From the 
forepeak he secured the pigeon coop and a piece of 
tarpaulin. The latter he spread over the skylight 
to darken the cabin, and thus induce his captor to 
sleep undisturbed by the sunlight. 

Jones continued to snore with unabated vigor, so 
Sumner carried his belongings ashore, to a spot 
where there were numerous pools of rain-water in 
hollows of the ledges. 

The pigeons were all right, though somewhat 
ruffled, and drooping in spirits. When food and 
water were given them they ate industriously, how- 
ever; so Sumner left them thus engaged, and taking 
his camera, made several exposures. These in- 
cluded a picture of the “Spitfire,” and characteristic 
views of the island. Next he photographed the 
near-by island, with its huge stone horse, and also 
attempted a view of what he thought to be the main- 
land, where the smoke was visible. When several 
pictures had been taken, he returned to the pigeons 
and his developing outfit. 


SUMNER SENDS A MESSAGE HOME 105 


Every one who has used a pocket kodak knows 
that the negatives are made on a strip of thin cel- 
luloid film, which is coated with an emulsion that is 
extremely sensitive to light. On each strip several 
exposures may be made before it is necessary to re- 
load the camera, and by an ingenious arrangement 
of light-proof paper, the reel, with the film wound 
upon it,, can be taken from the camera in daylight, 
and replaced by a fresh roll. 

Sumner opened the camera and removed the film 
roll. Next he opened up his outfit, which included 
a daylight developing machine, a measuring glass, a 
tray or two, developing and fixing powders, and, in 
fact, everything necessary to develop the film on the 
spot. 

He filled the measuring glass with clear rain-water 
from a pool, and dissolved a developer powder in it. 
Then, placing the film roll in the machine, he poured 
in the developer and replaced the cover. After 
turning the crank for several minutes, the devel- 
opment was finished, the developer was poured out, 
and replaced by rinsing water. This was followed 
in turn by the clearing and fixing solution. A few 
minutes later the strip of negatives, clear and dis- 
tinct, was soaking in a pool. 

Time was now very valuable, for despite precau- 
tions, Jones might wake up and come hunting for 
his prisoner. Sumner was obliged, therefore, to 
slight somewhat the final washing of the negatives, 
but he soaked them fifteen minutes, first in one pool 


106 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


and then another. Meantime he wrote a short let- 
ter on some very thin and tough paper, which he had 
brought for this especial purpose. 


“ Dear Captain Bttcklin: ” it ran. “I address this to you, 
as you will see it first. Please tell my father that the ‘Spit- 
fire ’ was stolen from her anchorage at Pod Island with me on 
her about two o’clock Wednesday morning. We were blown 
out to sea, and ran ashore last night on this island, where I now 
am. It is now Thursday morning, six o’clock. 

“Tell Val and Cal the yacht is all right, but stuck in a cove. 
As I don’t know where I am, I have taken some kodak pictures, 
and send the negatives by the other pigeon. As you know 
all about this coast, I hope you will find out enough from them 
to tell you where I am. Nobody lives here, and I can’t get 
away unless some one comes or sends for me. There is enough 
to eat, but I want to get away from Jones, the man who stole 
the yacht and still keeps me a prisoner. He is asleep on the 
‘Spitfire,’ so I have been able to do this. 

“I hope Farleigh Hartwell’s broken arm is doing well. Oh, 
say, I think that Major Bangs was burned up in his cabin at 
Pod Island, Tuesday night. I found the place all afire, and 
saw some one inside asleep, but the door was fastened so I 
couldn’t get in or do anything to help before the fire burned the 
cabin down. 

“Don’t worry, for I am all right, though I was more than 
seasick in the storm. 

“Yours truly, 

“Sumner Parker.” 

Having hastily composed this epistle, Sumner 
took the strip of negatives from the water, and cut 
apart the several exposures. These were now placed 
in a tray and covered with alcohol. After soaking 
them several minutes until the spirit had thoroughly 


SUMNER SENDS A MESSAGE HOME 107 


combined with the water in the film, he poured off 
the surplus alcohol. When exposed to the air the 
alcohol in the film rapidly evaporated, soon leaving 
the negatives dry and ready for use. 

During the final drying, Sumner had made his 
letter into a tiny roll, wrapped it in oiled silk, and 
attached it to one of the pigeons. He now rolled 
up the films as compactly as possible and fastened 
them securely to the other bird. The pigeons were 
then released. 

Freed, the carriers for the moment seemed loath 
to depart. But rising presently, after a few uncertain 
circles about Sumner’s head, they struck out in a 
southwesterly direction, while the youth, with a big 
lump in his throat, watched them fly away. 

When the birds had become mere pin points in 
the sky, Sumner hid his belongings . in the bushes 
and walked down to the beach on the western side 
of the island. A short distance from shore a small 
islet rose from the water; it was little more than a 
protruding ledge, with a scant covering of sand and a 
few stunted bushes. 

But what interested Sumner most was the “ Spit- 
fire’s” missing tender, low in the water, lazily drift- 
ing between him and the islet. 

After a few moments’ watching had convinced 
him that the boat would not come ashore on the 
island, he pulled off his outer clothing, cap, sweater, 
trousers, shoes and stockings, and prepared to swim 
for it. He was clad thus in his light suit of summer 


108 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


underclothing when a call came over the ridge behind 
him. 

“Where are you, Parker ?” 

Hastily rolling his discarded clothes into a bundle, 
Sumner tucked them out of sight in a thicket, and 
the next minute was swimming impetuously for the 
boat. He had covered two thirds of the distance 
when Jones reached the beach. 

Catching sight of Sumner’s bobbing head, the fel- 
low drew his revolver. 

“Come back!” he shouted. 


CHAPTER XI 


SUMNER MAKES HIS DEBUT IN CODVILLE 

Now be it known that it was the least of all Sum- 
ner’s intentions to return to Jones’ clutches. He 
swam energetically toward the boat, nor did he 
pause until Jones repeated his command. 

“Oh, halloo,” he retorted, facing about and tread- 
ing water. “It’s you, is it?” 

“What are you trying to do?” returned Jones, 
gruffly, holding the revolver in a conspicuous posi- 
tion. “ Running away ? ” 

“I’m trying to get the boat,” returned Sumner, 
earnestly. “We need it the worst way, you know.” 

This ingenuous reply somewhat disarmed Jones’ 
suspicions. He returned the revolver to his pocket. 

“Go ahead, then. Bring it in. I thought you 
were trying to get away.” 

Elated at the success of this strategy, Sumner 
resumed his progress toward the tender, while Jones, 
believing he could still control the youth’s move- 
ments with his revolver, should Sumner endeavor to 
outwit him, watched proceedings from the beach. 

On reaching the boat, Sumner found, as he ex- 
pected from the way it sat in the water, that rain 
and spray had filled it nearly two thirds full. In- 
109 


110 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


deed, were it not for the fact that it was provided 
with air reservoirs at bow and stern, the tender 
would undoubtedly have been swamped during the 
storm. 

To his joy, both oars were securely wedged under 
the thwarts, as he had left them. 

The current had by this time carried the tender 
close alongside the islet. A new idea popped into 
Sumner’s head, and instead of getting aboard, he 
made his way to the bow, and proceeded to tug the 
craft toward the little island. 

“Here, where are you going with that boat?” 
Jones demanded, as he perceived Sumner’s move- 
ments. 

“She’s so full of water that I’m going to haul her 
out on this island and empty her before rowing back,” 
explained Sumner, setting foot on the islet as he 
spoke. “And it will be a precious long time before 
I row back, too,” he muttered under his breath. 

Though Jones viewed this maneuver with sus- 
picion, yet, noticing that Sumner apparently had no 
clothing on, he thought it impossible he would try 
to escape. Then, too, the distance to the islet was 
so short, and he considered himself so good a shot, 
that he felt sure he could terrorize the boy into 
returning, if he attempted to slip away. But he 
watched Sumner as a cat watches a mouse. 

Sumner had craftily allowed the current to drift 
him past the side of the islet nearest the beach, and 
tugged the boat ashore at one side. It took him some 


SUMNER’S DEBUT IN CODVILLE 111 


time to free her of water, for there was such a quan- 
tity inside that he could not immediately pull the 
boat up and turn her over. But vigorous work with 
the bailing dipper soon lightened the boat, so he 
hauled her out, tipped her up, and the last of the 
briny contents ran out. 

Not caring to run the risk of being hit by Jones’ 
bullets, instead of shipping the oars, Sumner turned 
the boat around, heading the bow offshore. Then 
he waded into the water, hauled the tender off, and, 
swimming on his back — that is, holding the painter 
in his hands, and striking out with his feet — with 
the entire boat between himself and the rascal on the 
beach, bent every energy to pulling the craft out of 
range. 

When Jones caught the full significance of this 
performance his wrath was something worth see- 
ing. He discharged every barrel of his revolver 
after the departing Sumner — without, however, 
inflicting any injury, and swore in mighty rage. 

With fast-beating heart, but full of elation at his 
success, Sum steadily drew the tender farther and 
farther from shore, and when at last he felt himself 
to be out of range, clambered inboard and shipped 
the oars. 

Jones was hurrying back over the ridge, but what 
cared he for Jones now? If that was mainland to 
the westward, he, Sumner, would have a sheriff 
after the scamp in less time than it takes to say 
“ Jack Robinson,” and get back the “ Spitfire” into 


112 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


the bargain. For how was Jones to get away from 
the island? The yacht was fast aground, and he 
had no rowboat. 

Sumner bent to the oars with energy born of good 
luck. An hour later found him close to his desti- 
nation. A broad, sandy beach, backed by pine 
woods, greeted his gaze as he drew nearer. Back 
from the shore a thin wreath of smoke mounted 
above the tree-tops, and he thought once he caught 
a glimpse of the roof of a house — these were the 
only signs of life. 

Upon the beach a heavy surf was pounding — a 
condition of affairs the tender was illy adapted to 
combat. Consequently, a few minutes later, Sum- 
ner was flung, again wet to the skin, on the sandy 
shore, while the tender, which had capsized in spite 
of him, was washed up on the strand after him. 

He made haste to secure the oars, and then, after 
pulling the tender up to a safe distance from the 
waves, made his way, pretty well tired out, and ex- 
tremely hungry, to the top of the beach. 

So far as temperature was concerned, the state of 
his attire caused him no inconvenience, for old Sol 
was now beating down in right good earnest. But 
Sum was in need of assistance, and being by nature 
extremely scrupulous as to his appearance, how he 
should manage to present himself to residents of this 
unknown locality was a problem requiring some 
thought. 

Pondering this delicate question, he cautiously 


SUMNER’S DEBUT IN CODVILLE 113 


left the beach, and almost immediately came to a 
fence. This surrounded a pasture in which several 
cows were grazing. Against the fence Sum leaned 
wearily, and gave himself up to the problem that 
confronted him. 

“And do you, too, my young friend, find joy in 
contemplating the gentle ruminant ? ” 

As this question was propounded directly behind 
him, Sumner jumped as though electrified. He 
turned in consternation, wishing the ground might 
open and swallow him; but the appearance of his 
interrogator reassured him. 

It was a funny little man who stood before Sum- 
ner — a man, short of stature, with an enormous 
head, upon which lay a mop of fiery red hair, 
matched by mustache and whiskers of the same 
hue; his very prominent nose was surmounted by a 
pair of blue spectacles, and on the top of his head, 
with the red hair showing beneath like a fringe, was 
a broad- brimmed sombrero. An outing shirt of 
the vividest blue, baggy duck trousers, canvas shoes, 
and a blazer with vertical red and white stripes, 
completed a costume that was striking in the ex- 
treme. 

No wonder that Sumner regained his composure, 
for the looks of the stranger for the moment took his 
thoughts off his own appearance. 

“I’d find a heap more joy in a dry suit of clothes 
and a square meal,” said Sumner, decidedly. “I 
say, Mister, can’t you get me some togs?” 


114 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


“Why, you are wet — drenched to the skin,” 
exclaimed the man with the blue glasses, suddenly 
perceiving Sum’s condition, and eyeing him crit- 
ically. “And — ah — ah — your — ah — toilet is 
not as sumptuous as you — ah — probably wish it 
might be. Not so?” 

“Sumptuous?” retorted Sumner. “Well, I 
should say not. I say, Mister, can’t you help a 
fellow to some decent clothes ? I would appreciate 
it — I really would, you know. I can’t go up in the 
settlement in this rig. And though I haven’t a cent 
in my clothes — ” he grimaced drolly — “there’s a 
good boat down there on the beach ” — he indi- 
cated the “Spitfire’s” tender — “that you can have 
for security till I can get to Stroudport and send ’em 
back to you.” 

The bewhiskered stranger listened attentively, 
and an expression of deep concern rested on his face 
as Sumner concluded his remarks. 

“Clothes?” he exclaimed. “Certainly — cer- 
tainly. Come to the house with me at once.” And 
he started energetically away, expecting Sumner to 
follow; but that person drew back. 

“I’d rather not,” he said modestly, “if you don’t 
mind bringing ’em here. I — you see — oh, hang 
it! wouldn’t I make a spectacle of myself in this 
get-up?” 

The red-headed man paused in his walk, and 
looked around. Like one aroused from preoccu- 
pation, he exclaimed in surprise: — 


SUMNER'S DEBUT IN CODVILLE 115 


“Why don’t you come, my young friend?” 

“I — I’d rather not, in this costume,” reiterated 
Sumner, mentally pondering what manner of man 
this was. “Hadn’t you just as lief bring ’em 
here?” 

“Of course,” was the reply. “How stupid of me. 
You do not wish to appear before the populace in 
your present garb — or, rather, lack of garb. I 
have it,” he went on, lifting a hand impressively; 
“you stay right here, and I will bring the clothes to 
you.” 

Off again he started, turned the corner of the 
pasture fence near at hand, and disappeared among 
the trees. 

“What a funny old cove,” mused Sumner, as he 
seated himself on a rock in the sun. “If every one 
here is like him, and adds as big a bunch of color to 
the landscape as he does, it’s an outlandish place, 
that’s all. 

“There, I forgot to ask him what place this is,” 
he went on. “But anyhow, when those clothes get 
here, I’ll have some grub first whack. Then I’ll 
alarm the authorities and have Jones arrested; and 
see about getting the yacht hauled off and taking 
her to Stroudport. 

“ Jehokey, but Val and Cal must be tearing their 
hair over the 'Spitfire.’ Never mind, the pigeons 
will be home pretty soon. I only hope that the 
Cap’nwill be around the cote when they get there.” 

Thus he mused aimlessly for some minutes, until 


116 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


he was startled by a ringing, girlish laugh, mingled 
with the bark of a dog, off in the grove whither the 
red-haired stranger had gone. 

“ Ha-ha! I beat you, Jim,” exclaimed the voice, 
in clear, ringing tones. “ Don’t tell me I can’t 
outrun you” 

“Oh, well,” came the reply in a masculine grum- 
ble. “How can you help it when you push a fellow 
up against a tree. ’Twasn’t fair.” 

The girlish laugh rang out again. 

“Ho ! A poor excuse is better than none. But 
come, I’m going down on the beach.” 

Sumner Parker, seated on the rock in the warm 
sunlight, heard this conversation in an agony of 
apprehension lest his unlucky plight be discovered 
by the newcomers. When the girlish voice an- 
nounced its owner’s determination to go upon the 
beach, Sumner glanced eagerly about for a suitable 
hiding-place. 

The only shelter near enough to be reached in time 
for concealment was the tender. For this haven of 
refuge Sumner made a dash, and crouched behind it 
just in time to avoid being seen by the youthful 
couple whose voices he had heard, as they presently 
emerged upon the beach, followed by a frisky little 
bull terrier. 

“How blue the water is after the storm,” exclaimed 
the young lady, enthusiastically, gazing off across 
the heaving sea. 

“Yes,” responded her companion, absently. His 


SUMNER’S DEBUT IN CODVILLE 117 


eyes were following the dog as it went sniffing 
down the beach, occasionally uttering a short bark. 

Presently the dog reached the “Spitfire’s” tender, 
and began barking loudly at it, frisking about in a 
paroxysm of canine excitement, to the unutterable 
disgust of Sumner, who presently began throwing 
pebbles at his discoverer, in an attempt to drive him 
away. 

But this simply excited the dog still more, until 
the air fairly rang with his sharp barks. 

“What is the matter?” exclaimed the girl, in 
wonder. “What has that incorrigible puppy found 
behind that boat?” 

“Give it up,” replied the youth. “Let’s go and 
see.” 

The pair were approaching this new point of in- 
terest, curiosity plainly written on their faces, when 
a voice from the direction of the boat reached them. 

‘ ‘ Aw — I say, ’ ’ it e j aculated energetically. ‘ ‘ Please 
don’t come here! Please go away! ” 

These unexpected remarks from an invisible 
source served to whet their curiosity only the more, 
and they involuntarily quickened their pace toward 
the mysterious boat. 

A remonstrance followed this advance, uttered 
in a tone that rose almost to a shriek. 

“Aw, don't — don't come here! Don’t, I beg of 
you — you see, I’m not presentable! Oh!" 

The next moment a figure, clad in a costume as 
scanty as circus tights, arose hastily from the farther 


118 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


side of the rowboat, and went running wildly along 
the beach, with the terrier barking vociferously at its 
heels. 

“Who in the world is it?” queried the young man, 
in astonishment. Then a great light seemed to 
dawn upon him, and he threw his cap suddenly 
in the air. “Lordy, it must be Kent Ransome ! 
Here, Tacks,” he called loudly to the dog. “Tacks, 
come back here, you rascal.” 

But Tacks’ attention was completely absorbed by 
the fleeing Sumner, who, after running along the 
beach for some distance, darted up the slope and 
vanished in a pine thicket. 

“I think,” exclaimed the girl, after a brief stare 
at the unlooked-for apparition, “that it is some one 
sadly in need of clothes.” 


CHAPTER XII 


VAL AND CAL TAKE POSSESSION OE THE “SEA 
rover’s” WHEEL-HOUSE 

When the oarsmen brought the boat alongside 
the “Sea Rover,” Val and Cal boarded the yacht 
with many misgivings. A stranger met them at the 
rail, and assisted them inboard. 

“Where’s Hartwell?” eagerly asked Val. 

The man led the way to the cabin, and the trio 
entered. Their guide opened a door in the forward 
bulkhead, and motioned them into a small state- 
room, dimly lit by a swinging lamp. 

“Here,” he said, in low tones. 

The boys entered the apartment, and for the 
moment did not notice that their companion failed 
to accompany them, nor that the door closed softly 
behind them, so intense was their anxiety concern- 
ing Hartwell. 

Two berths, one above the other, were built into 
the wall. Cal hastily drew back the curtains that 
partially concealed them. 

“You poor fellow ” he began in a compas- 

sionate tone. 

“Where the dickens is he?” he asked in perplex- 
ity, for the berths were empty. 

119 


120 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


“They’ve taken us to the wrong place,” exclaimed 
Val. “Look here.” He turned to speak to the 
man who had conducted them to the stateroom, 
and great was his surprise to find nothing but the 
closed door. He uttered a whistle of astonishment. 

“We’re locked in, Cal,” he said, after a vigorous 
manipulation of the door-knob failed to give them 
an exit. 

“Oh, you must be mistaken,” returned Cal. 
“Try again. The door is stuck.” 

Val tried again, but with a like result. There 
was no doubt they were prisoners. To add to their 
perplexity, the throbbing of the engine announced 
that the yacht was under way. 

“What does it mean?” exclaimed Cal, in dismay. 

“We’ll find out mighty sudden,” ejaculated his 
companion, with energy. He braced his shoulder 
against the door, and pushed with all his might. 
The wood cracked and buckled, but would not yield. 

“Here, Cal,” he muttered, “get your back against 
it, and see if we can’t start the thing.” 

Cal complied, but their united efforts failed to 
force an exit, and they presently desisted, filled with 
indignant curiosity at the treatment they were re- 
ceiving. 

“Halloo!” shouted Val, loudly. “Halloo, there! 
Let us out. We’re locked in.” 

Although footsteps sounded on the deck outside, 
no voice replied to the call. 

“There may be a spring lock on the door that 


VAL AND CAL TAKE POSSESSION 121 


caught when we came in, and they don’t know that 
we are locked in,” suggested Cal, hopefully. 

“No doubt there is a spring lock, and it caught 
when we came in, but I’ll bet a copper nickel we 
were shut in on purpose,” retorted Val, leaning 
back against the bunks in deep perplexity. 

Above the door was an air space of a few inches 
width. There was no side window in the state- 
room, but the skylight that afforded light for the 
cabin extended above the stateroom also. Stand- 
ing on the edge of the lower bunk, Cal tried to look 
over the door into the cabin; but the air space was 
too close to the ceiling to allow him a view of any- 
thing save the skylight and the upper portion of the 
apartment. 

For several minutes, with heads close to the aper- 
ture, both called lustily for some one to release them. 
Not a soul responded. 

“It’s no use, old man,” declared Val, presently. 
“We’re trapped, sure’s a gun. I don’t believe Far- 
leigh is on this boat, or ever has been. It’s a rank 
game of some kind, though I can’t imagine what.” 

“But why?” queried Cal, anxiously, forced to 
admit that his chum’s surmise appeared correct. 

“Don’t ask me,” was the reply, in a low tone. 
“It simply gets me. But I know one thing; we 
are going to get out of this hole.” 

“Yes, and get knocked on the head, perhaps,” 
remonstrated Cal, who had a big bump of caution. 

“Pshaw!” was the rejoinder from Val, as he fum- 


122 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


bled in his hip pocket. But he suddenly bethought 
himself, and instead of bringing into sight anything 
from the aforesaid pocket, stepped to the light and 
extinguished it. 

“I’ve got my revolver, Cal,” he whispered. “We 
can’t force the door, but perhaps we can the sky- 
light. Once we get on deck we’ll show these fellows 
a thing or two.” 

Hurriedly he outlined a plan that had popped 
into his head, in which Cal acquiesced. 

By climbing upon the upper bunk they reached 
the skylight, which was in sections — each section 
being hinged, and opening independent of the others. 

“Hurrah!” whispered Val, as he discovered the 
foregoing facts. “Here’s our way out.” 

Stealthily they unhooked the catch, and pressed 
upward on the skylight frame. It yielded readily. 
When it was open perhaps two feet at the free side, 
Cal held it for Val to crawl out. This having been 
accomplished without discovery, Cal followed suit. 
So presently they found themselves on what might 
be termed the upper deck, just abaft the smoke- 
stack, which interposed itself between them and the 
wheel-house. This was also on the upper deck, and 
accessible by a door in the rear. 

The darkness was now quite intense, owing to 
the clouds which obscured the moon, yet, as steps 
sounded just below, both boys crouched suddenly, 
for fear of discovery. Their fears, however, proved 
groundless. Without a suspicion of their presence, 



“ ‘ FOLLOW ME, NOW,’ 

who’s 


MUTTERED VAL, ‘ WE’LL SEE FIRST 
AT THE WHEEL ! ’ ” 































VAL AND CAL TAKE POSSESSION 123 


the person passed along, and entered the engine 
room. 

“Follow me, now,” muttered Val, producing his 
revolver. “We’ll see first who’s at the wheel.” 

A very few moments later the helmsman — who 
was the identical fellow that had been in charge of 
the boat which brought them aboard — heard the 
door behind him softly open. He turned to look 
helplessly into the muzzle of Val’s revolver while 
in the semi-gloom of the wheel-house two determined 
faces confronted him. 

“What the ” he stammered, starting back in 

astonishment. 

“Put about and head for our yacht,” commanded 
Val, firmly. “And keep your mouth shut,” he 
added, as an intimation that the helmsman was not 
to alarm the rest of the yacht’s crew. 

Like a flash the pilot attempted to press a button 
in the wall, but his design was quickly thwarted by 
Val, who gripped the fellow’s collar and pulled him 
forcibly back. 

“Sit down,” muttered Brandon, through set teeth, 
and the fellow perforce obeyed, dropping limply 
on one of the side seats. 

The wheel now swung dree, but Val grasped it 
with one hand, while with the other he kept his 
revolver handy. 

“Tie him, Cal,” he ordered, for it was tacitly 
understood that Val was to direct operations. 

In a corner lay a coil of small rope. The fellow 


124 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


offered little resistance as Cal bound him tightly 
hand and foot, but eyed the revolver apprehensively. 

This done, Val endeavored to ascertain the where- 
abouts of the yacht, which was moving at about 
half speed through the dimness. Off to starboard 
there seemed to be a mass of black lying low on the 
water, and far away, dead ahead, a light twinkled 
through the night. 

The skipper of the “Spitfire” knew the yacht was 
somewhere among the islands of the lower bay, but 
for the life of him he could not tell where. In the 
first place, he was uncertain in which direction the 
yacht had gone off at the start, nor could he calcu- 
late what distance she had traversed. Again, he 
had never been sailing in the lower bay at night, and 
there was nothing familiar about the surroundings. 

“Where are we?” he finally demanded of the 
captive, who sat in gloomy silence under Cal’s 
espionage. 

“Find out, if you can,” was the brusque retort. 
The late helmsman was regaining a trifle of the 
assurance he had lost when the boys made their 
unexpected appearance. 

“So?” retorted Val, sarcastically. “Then if I 
have the fortune to pile the ‘Sea Rover’ up on one 
of these islands, don’t blame me.” 

He put the wheel down, and gradually brought 
the yacht around till she headed in a direction 
exactly opposite to that in which she had been mov- 
ing. He had found her headed northeast by east ; she 


VAL AND CAL TAKE POSSESSION 125 


now headed southwest by west, and the change 
had been made without arousing the notice of the 
crew. 

The rest of the yacht’s men were evidently con- 
gregated in the engine room, for when Val pressed 
his ear to the speaking tube, he caught snatches of 
conversation, and an occasional burst of laughter. 
But who could say when some one might take it into 
his head to pay the wheel-house a visit ? The thought 
shook Val’s nerves. 

“Go aft, Cal,” he whispered, mentioning his chum 
to his side, “and see if the rowboat is towing 
astern.” 

Cal left the wheel-house, and Val began to realize 
that in his angry desire to retaliate on the men who 
had taken him prisoner, he had acted unnecessarily 
and perhaps fatally in overpowering the pilot and 
getting control of the wheel. If the small boat 
was in the water — which was undoubtedly the 
case — it would have been a simple thing to have 
slipped down the after-ladder to the lower deck, 
and so into her. By assailing the pilot, and head- 
ing the yacht about, nothing had been gained, save 
possibly a mile or two of rowing in case they 
were fortunate enough to escape in the rowboat, 
while the chances of their discovery were increased 
tenfold. 

Their absence from the stateroom could not long 
go unobserved ; while, as before stated, some one might 
visit the pilot-house at any moment. As these 


126 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


thoughts now flashed through Val’s mind, he waited 
in a very agony of impatience for Cal’s return. 

The whistle sounded at the speaking tube. A 
voice called loudly: — 

“Gone to sleep up there? Ain’t it most time to 
pull up? ” 

“Get up here,” Val fiercely adjured the captive 
pilot, pulling him to his feet so his head came 
against the mouthpiece. “Tell ’em we’ll pull up 
very shortly,” he commanded, “and don’t put any 
frills in if you value a whole skin.” 

With a tremor in his tones the fellow did as he was 
bid. As he sank back upon the seat, Cal arrived to 
announce that the tender was dragging astern, and 
the coast was clear. 

Hastily lashing the wheel, Val stuffed his hand- 
kerchief with more force than politeness into the 
captive’s mouth, and took a couple of turns of line 
about his head to hold it there. 

Rapidly then, and without noise, the boys made 
their way aft and descended to the lower deck. No 
one was in sight, and the tender was dimly dis- 
cernible at the end of a few fathoms of line. 

“In with you,” whispered Cal, when he had 
drawn the boat in. A minute later both were in the 
tender. Cal’s knife severed the painter, and they 
were left bobbing in the wake of the steam-yacht, 
which was presently swallowed up in the gloom. 

“Hooray!” cried Val, feeling a ton’s weight roll 
from his mind. “Now for Pod Island and the 


VAL AND CAL TAKE POSSESSION 127 


‘ Spitfire.’ Let’s get out the oars, old man, and 
hustle, for those fellows may be back after us pres- 
ently. 

“I think we managed that escape rather well,” he 
continued in a happy tone, while Cal fumbled in the 
bottom of the boat for the oars, “ though, after all, 
there was no earthly use in overpowering the pilot, 
except to get ourselves nearer home and save rowing. 

“What’s the matter?” he went on, as Cal still 
fumbled about the boat’s bottom. 

“Matter enough,” was the grim retort. “There 
isn’t a single oar here. We’re saved lots of rowing, 
because the oars are on board the ‘Sea Rover.’ ” 


CHAPTER XIII 


MAJOR BANGS APPEARS IN A VILLAINOUS 
CHARACTER 

“No oars! ” exclaimed Val, in sudden dismay, 
when Carroll Morse announced the result of his 
search. 

“Not an oar.” 

“What a pair of dunderheads we are,” muttered 
Val, gloomily, as he fumbled about in a vain attempt 
to disprove Cal’s statement. 

“Agreed,” Carroll responded laconically. “Miles 
from the yacht — dark night — open boat — no 
oars.” He laughed and sat down, but there was 
no mirth in his laugh. 

“We may drift upon some island,” said Val, hope- 
fully. 

“More likely out to sea,” predicted Cal, dismally. 

“Anyhow, it’s better than being locked up on 
the ‘Sea Rover.’ ” 

“ It is the difference between being at liberty to go 
without being able, and being able to go without 
being at liberty,” was Cal’s response. 

“Say, what’s the matter with ripping up a couple 
of thwarts, and paddling?” 

This suggestion came from Val, and was adopted 
128 


BANGS IN A VILLAINOUS CHARACTER 129 


at once. The thwarts were not fastened, and fur- 
nished an extremely awkward means of propulsion. 
With Cal on one side at the bow, and Val on the 
other, aft, a la canoe, some semblance of speed was 
presently attained; but owing to the obscurity, it 
was difficult to tell either their speed or the nature 
of the course they were taking. A thin mist lay low 
on the surface of the water, and shut out from view 
the dark island shapes that had been discernible 
from the elevated pilot-house of the steam-yacht. 
For aught they knew, the boat might be describing a 
continual circle. 

“Hark!” Val suddenly said, stopping work after a 
quarter hour of vigorous paddling. “I heard some- 
thing.” 

Both listened intently. Out of the gloom and mist 
sounded the steady churning of a propeller, and the 
seething of water that denoted the approach of a 
steamer. 

“Shall we hail her?” queried Cal, in his eager- 
ness standing up. 

“Not on your life!” Val retorted instantly, as he 
strained his eyes for some sign of a light. “It may 
be the 4 Rover ’ looking for us.” 

“What a confounded state of affairs,” grumbled 
Cal. 44 Kidnaped; escaped from kidnapers; open 
boat; no oars; steamer goes by; don’t dare to 
hail for fear of being kidnaped again. I tell you, 
Val,” he continued, with emphasis, 44 the woes of this 
yacht cruise are getting rather overgrown.” 


130 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


Before Val could reply, a dark shape loomed up 
before them in the mist. The side lights of a steamer 
showed fair, while another light that looked like a 
bull’s-eye lantern gleamed between the colored lights. 

“ Paddle, old man,” ejaculated Val, grasping his 
thwart. “Paddle for your life. She’ll be on us in 
a minute.” 

“Paddle!” retorted Cal, contemptuously. “You 
can paddle; Fm going to holler.” And a fierce 
“Ahoy there! stop, or you’ll run us down,” came 
from his lusty lungs, that might have been heard for 
half a mile. 

On came the steamer. She was nearer than the 
boys thought. They heard the tinkle of the engine 
room bell, and the propeller churned fiercely on the 
reverse. 

Before them loomed up a knife-like prow. It 
seemed about to cut the rowboat down. Val 
prepared to jump one way — Cal the other; any- 
thing to escape being knocked senseless against 
the steamer’s hull, and drowning, helpless, a moment 
after. 

But the helmsman knew his business, and the bow 
veered sharply aside, missing the small boat by a few 
scant feet. The steamer stopped. 

“Halloo!” hailed Val. “What boat is that?” 

“Steam-yacht ‘Petrel,’ ” came the reply, after what 
seemed an unnecessarily long pause. 

“Can you lend us a pair of oars? ” asked Val. 

On the “Petrel’s” lower deck a group was dimly 


BANGS IN A VILLAINOUS CHARACTER 131 


discernible. The yacht had run past, and was 
slowly backing up. 

“ Can’t spare any,” was the reply. “Come 
aboard, and we’ll set you ashore.” 

A line was then thrown, and the rowboat pulled 
alongside. Val and Cal climbed over the rail to 
find a surprise awaiting them. Into their faces a 
lantern was thrust, and then, before resistance was 
possible, they were seized, bound hand and foot, 
and thrust into the cabin, Val’s revolver being 
taken from him. 

Here they lay, at full length on the floor, while the 
‘ ‘ Sea Rover’s’ ’ crew, who had retaken their former pris- 
oners with guile, put the yacht again on her course. 

It would be perfectly natural for persons in such a 
situation as Val and Cal found themselves, to be at 
least apprehensive regarding their captors’ inten- 
tions. But Val, in relating his experiences to me, 
stated that both Cal and himself were so incensed 
at themselves for being recaught in so simple a man- 
ner, that they gave hardly a thought at the first to 
what fate might hold in store for them. 

A single lamp illuminated the cabin, and doubtless 
their captors kept a close watch from without; but 
for a long time they were left to themselves. 

The yacht alternately went ahead and lay quiet. 
Sounds finally indicated the putting off of the boat; 
and after a long wait, it returned; but there was 
nothing to tell them in what part of the bay the 
“Sea Rover” was. 


132 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


After the boat’s return, the engine started once 
more, and soon the increased rocking of the yacht 
showed they were leaving the sheltering islands for 
the open sea. Then the engines stopped again, and 
the “Sea Rover” tossed lazily on the deep-sea swell. 

But long before this time the boys’ wrath had 
subsided so they could look the situation squarely 
in the face. So closely together they lay that it was 
possible to converse in tones that could not be heard 
outside, and for many minutes they discussed every 
phase of their misadventure. 

Every line of discussion ended in perplexity. 
“Why did they take us? ” and “ What will they do 
with us? ” were two sphinx-like riddles that baffled 
solution. 

“Bangs is at the bottom of this,” exclaimed Val, 
with a sudden inspiration. 

“Then it’s that ghastly evergreen business,” 
groaned Cal. 

At this juncture the cabin was invaded by no less 
a person than the Major. His face wore a smile 
that was doubtless intended to be conciliating; but to 
Val and Cal it seemed sardonic. 

“Talk of the devil ” began Cal, at sight of 

Bangs. 

“ And he appears,” finished Val, with such 
emphasis that the Major overheard. 

“Eh?” he inquired. “What’s that you say?” 
He stalked into the center of the cabin, and gazed 
down upon his captives. 


BANGS IN A VILLAINOUS CHARACTER 133 


“You can shuffle right out of here, you scamp,” 
exclaimed Val, his wrath again rising, now that an 
object had appeared upon which he could fitly vent 
it. “We know you’re at the bottom of this dirty 
business without your strutting around in here. 

“Kindly explain,” he continued bitterly, “now 
that you have us where you appear to want us, 
what you did it for, and what you propose to do 
with us.” 

Bangs did not immediately reply. He severed the 
cords that confined his captives’ ankles, and assisted 
each to a chair, leaving their wrists still tied. 

“I want to talk with you, briefly, and right to the 
point,” he announced, when this partial release had 
been accomplished. 

“We’re waiting,” growled Cal. 

“In the first place, your condition is due to cir- 
cumstances over which I had no control,” said the 
Major, after evidently casting about for the best way 
to broach the information which he thought it 
necessary to impart. 

The faces of his auditors plainly showed incre- 
dulity at this announcement. 

“I want you to distinctly understand,” went on 
their burly captor, seating himself with his elbows 
on the cabin table, and gazing earnestly across 
at his hearers, “that you are completely in our 
power.” 

The Major waited a moment for this statement to 
soak in. 


134 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


“Secondly,” he continued impressively, “you 
will be obliged to accept our hospitality for a short 
time.” 

“Is this your hospitality? ” sneered Cal, indicating 
his bound wrists. 

“That is something we will try to remedy,” 
returned Bangs, suavely. “Hear me through.” 

Val was on the point of speaking, but restrained 
himself. 

“ Thirdly, we shall keep you until it suits our con- 
venience to let you go. We hold no malice against 
you — we don’t intend to harm you. Goodness 
knows,” continued the Major, with a deprecatory 
gesture, “that we don’t want you, any more than 
you want us. It is grim necessity that forces us to 
this step.” 

“What do you want of us? ” asked Cal. “What 
do you think you will make us do, if you can hold 
us?” 

“Don’t worry about our holding you,” retorted 
Bangs, sharply. “We don’t ask a thing of you except 
to endure our company, eat our grub, sleep in 
our bunks, and enjoy yourselves. I offer no ex- 
planations whatever. It is enough to say you’ve 
got to go. 

“I wish to know if, understanding that we do, 
can, and will keep you secure prisoners, you’ll go 
along peaceably, and thereby save yourselves a hard 
time?” 

“How long do you intend to keep us?” ques- 


BANGS IN A VILLAINOUS CHARACTER 135 


tioned Cal, striving hard to hold his feelings in 
check. 

“And where are you taking us? ” added Brandon. 

“I can’t tell you,” declared the Major, bluntly, 
“but I will say that temporarily we shall take you 
beyond the sight of the world.” 


CHAPTER XIV 


BANGS MAKES A PROPOSITION 

In the short pause following his last surprising 
remark, Major Bangs lighted a cigar, evidently in- 
tending to allow his auditors time to digest his re- 
marks. When the weed was going to his satisfaction, 
he resumed: — 

“We make you this proposition ” 

“Wait,” interposed Val, forcefully. “Tell us 
what you are going to do with Sumner Parker and 
my yacht.” 

“Parker will soon be aboard with you,” declared 
Bangs. “As for the sailboat, we — well — it’s in 
safe hands. We have no use for it. It’s all right.” 

“Will it be left at Pod Island? ” questioned Val, 
eagerly. 

“Certainly.” 

Bangs made this declaration with such apparent 
sincerity that Val believed him, rascal though the 
Major had shown himself to be. 

“We make you a proposal,” Bangs went on, re- 
suming the thread of his remarks, “ which, under 
the circumstances, is exceedingly generous.” 

Val sniffed contemptuously. 

“Remember,” admonished Bangs, sharply, “that 

136 



“ ‘YOU BIG RUFFIAN,’ HE SHOUTED, 

FIRST.’ ” 


‘l’LL SEE YOU HANGED 




































- 




31 6 























































BANGS MAKES A PROPOSITION 137 


we are armed — you aren’t ; you are few — we are 
many; we’ve got you fast — you can’t go till we 
allow you; and if you are the sensible fellows I take 
you to be, you’ll jump at my offer. 

“Pledge your oath not to attempt to escape till we 
set you at liberty, and you shall have the freedom of 
the yacht, and when we go ashore ” 

“We go ashore, then, do we? ” This from Cal. 

“Yes,” acknowledged Bangs, “we shall spend 
most of the time comfortably on shore, where you’ll 
have the range of our quarters, plenty to eat, books 
and papers to read, with fishing thrown in. 

“What do you say? ” he finally demanded. 

For a moment no one spoke, but finally Val’s 
temper got the better of him. 

“So you want us to consent to being abducted, do 
you?” he exclaimed in a hard, tense voice. “You 
calmly ask us to break up a yacht cruise and let you 
carry us off, Temporarily, beyond the sight of the 
world.’ Not only that,” he went on, his anger 
rising with every sentence, “but you want us to 
promise not to try to escape, so you won’t have the 
trouble of guarding us; and call it generous treat- 
ment because you’re willing to take our word for our 
actions. 

“You big ruffian,” he shouted, in a tone of wrath- 
ful loathing, suddenly rising and confronting the 
Major, who also rose in some astonishment at the 
unexpected outburst, “I’ll see you hanged before I 
agree to such a thing.” 


138 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


“Think it over — think it over/’ ejaculated 
Bangs, hurriedly moving toward the port cabin 
door, and evidently anxious to get away from a dis- 
tasteful scene. “I give you an hour to talk it over 
and decide. Don’t be hasty. Cool off a little and 
think intelligently. On your decision your per- 
sonal comfort for perhaps a month depends.” 

Bangs paused with a hand on the door-knob. Val 
strode up to him. 

“What will the Stroudport police do,” he asked 
harshly, “when they learn that something remarkably 
like a coffin box was loaded on the ‘Sea Rover’ 
at one o’clock Tuesday morning? That some one 
was paid a hundred dollars for ‘ doing the job,’ and 
told to keep his mouth shut if he would keep out of 
difficulties? ” 

“What do you mean?” gasped Bangs, starting 
back with a slightly whitened face. 

“I mean the ‘evergreen plant,’” retorted the 
skipper of the “Spitfire.” 

But at this interesting crisis came an interruption. 
For some time past the rumble of thunder had been 
audible, though scarcely noticed by the occupants of 
the cabin. 

Now came a blinding flash and a stunning thunder- 
clap. 

“Come out here, Bangs,” shouted a voice from 
the deck. “There’s a squall coming down on us, 
and Jones is not here yet.” 

The Major recovered from the momentary per- 


BANGS MAKES A PROPOSITION 139 


turbation which Val’s words had undoubtedly 
caused him. He hastily left the cabin, firing a part- 
ing shot ere the door closed. 

“You know too mucky 

“If you want my honest opinion, old man,” said 
Cal, in a tone of remonstrance, as his companion 
came and leaned dejectedly against the table, “I 
think it’s blamed poor diplomacy to stir Bangs up 
like that for nothing.” 

“It gave us the clue to the whole business,” 
retorted Val. 

“I fail to see how.” 

“Bangs said, 'You know too much/ didn’t he?” 

Cal assented. 

“That tells why we’re here,” was Val’s decided 
comment. “Bangs is the head of a gang, and some- 
how we have been unlucky enough to stumble upon 
their secrets. Rather than give up the dirty job 
they’re at, they intend to put us out of the way, so 
we can’t interfere with their plans until their work is 
done. 

“I suppose,” he added with grim humor, “we 
ought to be grateful that they don’t knife us and 
chuck us overboard. It would save them trouble. 
But Bangs is too great a moral coward to kill us.” 

“I hope so,” said Cal, fervently. 

A second vivid flash of lightning illumined the 
cabin, followed by another ear-splitting thunder- 
clap. Then came the squall. Such a torrent of 
rain and wind struck the yacht that for the instant 


140 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


she heeled far over under its impact. In alarm, 
both Val and Cal took a position at the side windows 
and peered anxiously into the darkness. The light- 
ning momentarily revealed a waste of heaving sea, 
lashed by driving rain. 

“Look, Cal, look!” cried Val, in sudden dismay, 
as he gazed intently into the storm. 

To their startled eyes the lightning showed a sloop- 
yacht, under jib and double-reefed mainsail, her 
bows and lee rail buried in the surges, rushing past 
at express train speed, within biscuit toss of the “Sea 
Rover.” Against the blackness of the night her 
white sails and hull stood clear-cut. The lightning 
gleamed on two blanched faces in the standing room. 

Some one on the steam-yacht’s deck uttered a 
fierce hail, to which there was no response. A gust 
of wind and rain swept the sloop past, and she van- 
ished in the mists. 

With pallid faces Val and Cal staggered back 
from the windows. 

“Merciful heaven, Cal,” cried Val, “that was the 
‘Spitfire.’ ” 

“And Sumner,” rejoined his companion, excitedly. 
“God help him to-night.” 

“Here, Cal,” said Val, fiercely. “Try to untie 
my hands with your teeth. Are we to tamely stay 
here, while Sum is threatened with death at any 
moment? I’ve got to do something — something 
— or I shall burst.” 

Carroll’s temperament was less excitable and 


BANGS MAKES A PROPOSITION 141 


more cautious than his companion’s, but the sight 
of Sumner in imminent peril had aroused him also. 
He knelt behind Val, and gnawed frantically at the 
cords that bound his wrists; but no sooner had he 
commenced operations than a young man entered 
the cabin. His clothes, which dripped with water, 
proclaimed the deck hand. 

“Quit that,” he said authoritatively. “Here, 
you,” he went on, indicating Cal, “sit here.” He 
led Carroll to a seat on one side the cabin. 

Val he forced to a chair on the opposite side, and 
adjuring them to keep their positions, the young 
fellow withdrew. Evidently he was standing guard 
over them. The ease with which Val and Cal had 
escaped before had apparently taught the yachtsmen 
a lesson. 

At the moment the “Spitfire” dashed past the “Sea 
Rover’s” engines had begun moving, and in the midst 
of the squall the boat went about and started ap- 
parently in pursuit of the sailboat. The storm was 
furious in its might, but the stanch steamer rode the 
angry waters like a duck. 

“My heavens!” groaned Val, in mental agony, as 
he listened to the shrieking of the wind. “What will 
become of poor Sum?” 

And right there an inaudible prayer went up from 
both their hearts that He who holds the seas in the 
hollow of His hand might protect their chum that 
night upon the raging ocean. 


CHAPTER XV 


VAL AND CAL DISAGREE 

For some minutes there was no conversation in 
the cabin of the “Sea Rover.” Indeed, so great was 
the tumult of the electrical storm that conversation 
would have been difficult; but each youth was 
plunged in gloomy consideration of their situation. 

Gradually the thunder and lightning abated, 
though the wind did not fall one jot. A nasty sea 
was rising, before which the yacht raced swiftly. 

As the minutes passed a deep frown settled upon 
the face of Val Brandon; while over the features 
of Carroll Morse gradually stole a look of actual 
relief. 

“I say accept,” exclaimed the latter, finally. 

“Accept what?” queried Val, rousing himself. 

“Why, Bangs’ proposition, of course. What else 
is there to accept?” 

“My dear fellow, have you lost your senses?” 
Val exclaimed, gazing at his mate in astonishment. 

“No, I think not,” was Cal’s firm response. 
“Shan’t you agree?” 

“Agree?” echoed Val, fiercely. “Most certainly 
not. 


142 


VAL AND CAL DISAGREE 


143 


“Why, old man,” he went on, “do you take stock 
in all the poppycock Bangs tried to stuff into us?” 

“I think it had several grains of truth in it,” was 
Cal’s reply. “We’re certainly in their power, and 
unarmed. If they keep us a month, it will be ter- 
ribly irksome to be trussed up like a turkey all the 
time. We’ve got to take our medicine; why not 
take it as comfortably as possible?” 

Cal spoke in tones that evinced a settled determina- 
tion. 

“True,” admitted Val, no less earnestly, “they’ve 
got us pinned down now; but what does that signify ? 
One hour may turn the tables. 

“You see, Cal,” continued the skipper of the “Spit- 
fire,” persuasively, “Bangs shows his weakness by 
his anxiety to conciliate us. There are not more 
than five men aboard — Bangs, the mate Bruce, 
the engineer, the deck hand, and a possible fireman. 

“Again, having us on their hands was not included 
in their calculations. At the business of standing 
guard they’re not up to snuff. Mark my words, 
there’ll be some hole to crawl out of. A month is 
a long time.” 

Val’s sentences showed that his mind was also fixed. 

“I shan’t agree to his proposal under any circum- 
stances,” he concluded. “You, of course, can do 
as you like.” 

“The scamps caught us,” retorted Cal, gloomily, 
“and I believe they are able to hold us. I propose 
to take things as easy as I can.” 


144 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


“So be it,” was Val’s rejoinder. “Go your way; 
I’ll go mine.” 

“Not at all, my dear fellow,” Cal remonstrated. 
“It’s simply a difference of judgment. And who 
knows,” he added in a low tone, “but it may be our 
best move to disagree on this point?” 

“We certainly do disagree, but I fail to see what 
good can come of it,” Val declared. “ I intend 
to resist to the end, and escape at the first oppor- 
tunity.” 

Promptly at the expiration of the hour Major 
Bangs entered the cabin. He had donned a suit 
of yellow oilskins, and a sou’wester, and water 
trickled from every fold and wrinkle as he confronted 
his prisoners. 

“Well?” he demanded, in a tone whose anxiety 
was illy concealed. 

“I accept,” returned Cal, quietly. 

“That’s sensible,” affirmed Bangs, in a tone of 
relief. “You, Brandon, of course do the same. 
Very well; we’ll have those strings off in a few ” 

“Plold on!” Val interrupted. “Not so fast. I 
do not accept.” 

“Whew!” said Bangs, explosively, gazing in doubt 
from one youth to the other. He was totally un- 
prepared for a difference of opinion between his 
captives; it rather nonplussed him. Certainly he 
had expected Val and Cal to act together. 

“What do you mean by this?” he inquired in 
quick suspicion. 


VAL AND CAL DISAGREE 


145 


“Just what I say,” retorted Cal. “You made 
a proposal — I accept. What is simpler?” 

“He does you the credit, Bangs,” interposed Val, 
“to take some stock in what you say. As for me, 
on principle I wouldn’t agree to any proposal you 
might make, for I could bank on there being some- 
thing concealed behind it.” 

Bangs took a turn about the cabin. Were the 
boys acting a part, or were they sincere in their 
disagreement ? 

“Well, so be it,” he finally said. “At least 
there’ll be only one to keep tied up under guard. 

“Brandon,” he added, with warmth, pausing 
before Val and eyeing him sharply, “you’re a bigger 
fool than I took you to be.” 

“That’s my lookout,” returned Val, curtly. 

“Don’t fool yourself by thinking Morse will be 
able to let you loose, either. Just jot that down.” 

“I take my own chances; he takes his,” was 
Brandon’s brief reply. 

At Bangs’ request Cal rose, and steadied himself 
against the yacht’s plunges against the table, while 
the Major severed the cord that fastened his wrists. 

“Now raise your right hand.” 

With some effort, for his arms were stiff from con- 
finement, Cal managed to get the indicated member 
upon a level with his head, and held it wavering 
there. 

“Do you solemnly swear,” asked Bangs, with 
a glitter in his eyes that boded no good to a perjurer, 


146 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


“to make no effort to escape from us nor to assist 
Brandon to escape, until we see fit to let you go?” 

“Hold on,” remonstrated Cal, “I didn’t agree to 
that clause about Brandon.” 

“That or nothing,” was Bangs’ decisive reply. 
“We’ll have no collusion between you chaps. If 
you are on parole and he is not, we won’t have you 
conniving at his escape.” 

In momentary hesitation Cal glanced at his chum ; 
but Val, who viewed the proceedings with high dis- 
approval, merely said : — 

“Hoe your own row, Cal.” 

“Then,” said Cal, “I swear, on condition that I 
have my liberty as specified.” 

“You are free,” said Bangs. “But recollect,” 
sternly, “ if you attempt to slip us, we will shoot you 
like a dog.” 

However, this threat did not terrify Cal. If 
shooting had been their purpose, his captors would 
have done it at the start, and saved themselves all 
this trouble. 

“For your part, Brandon,” Bangs said, “you’re 
certainly making a great mistake; but if you change 
your mind, the proposition is still open to you.” 

He removed the cord from Val’s wrists, and bring- 
ing his hands in front, slipped on a pair of handcuffs. 

“Thank your lucky stars,” he continued, when 
this was done, “that we are so considerate. 

“You fellows will occupy the same stateroom you 
had before” — Bangs smiled slightly as he said 


VAL AND CAL DISAGREE 


147 


this — “and I advise you to turn in if you want 
any sleep to-night. Sorry, but I fear Brandon will 
be obliged to sleep with his coat on.” 

With this he left the cabin, and the boys, thor- 
oughly worn out, turned in. Despite the dangers 
of the situation, exhausted nature asserted herself, 
and the two were soon sleeping soundly. 

Meanwhile the “Sea Rover” churned along 
through the tempestuous night. The squall proved 
to be the forerunner of a genuine southeasterly 
storm. From the southwest, where it had first 
blown, the wind gradually drew around into the 
southeast, and kicked up a choppy sea that tossed 
the yacht about like a chip. 

Although a keen lookout was constantly kept, 
nothing was seen of the “Spitfire” after her dash past 
in the height of the squall, although the steamer 
had immediately started in pursuit. 

It might have been four o’clock in the morning 
when Marshall, the engineer, worn and weary, 
slipped on the iron steps leading to the stoke-hole, 
and struck his head violently against the ironwork. 
Shortly afterward he was found insensible upon the 
floor of the fire room. All efforts to revive him 
proved futile. He lay in his bunk, in a state of com- 
plete stupefaction. 

The yacht was now without an engineer. To 
lessen the number of hands, no fireman had been 
shipped, the engineer himself, with the occasional 
aid of the deck hand, looking out for the fires. So it 


148 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


fell out that there was no other member of the crew 
who had any but the baldest knowledge of the 
engine or how to run the boiler. 

A short time after the engineer met with his 
mishap, the boys’ stateroom was invaded by Major 
Bangs, who exhibited every sign of alarm. 

“Wake up here. Wake up,” he shouted, shaking 
both yachtsmen with no gentle hand. 

“Wake up. Do either of you know how to run 
an engine? ” 

“Val does,” replied Cal, drowsily. “He does — 
I don’t. Let me alone, can’t you? I’m tired to 
death.” 

“Come, Brandon; wake up,” adjured Bangs. 

“What do you want?” Val was finally awake. 

“Our engineer is hurt. We want you to run the 
engine, if you can.” 

“I won’t do it,” declared Val, with vigor. “Do 
your own dirty work. Kindly get out of here and let 
me sleep.” 

“But none of us knows how to get water into the 
boiler,” returned Bangs, in great excitement. “It’s 
nearly empty. If you don’t help us out, Brandon, 
we’ll be blown up or swamped inside of ten minutes! ” 


CHAPTER XVI 


a FIRE ” ON THE “sea ROVER” 

Whether Major Bangs’ startling statement was 
strictly true or not, there was not the least doubt 
that he believed it himself, and he succeeded in 
producing a decided impression upon his auditors; 
so decided, in fact, that Val slid from his bunk to the 
floor without further ado, and Cal, suddenly finding 
himself wide awake, arose with such celerity that 
his head thumped smartly against the upper berth. 

“Take these off,” said Val, extending his fettered 
wrists. Bangs eagerly complied. 

Scarce pausing to resume the outer clothing that 
had been discarded so short a time previous, the trio 
made their way along the heaving, wind-and-rain- 
swept decks to the engine room. 

The sea was much rougher than when the boys 
had turned in. At the first, the change of wind had 
produced a chop; but the strength of the storm had 
finally changed the trend of the swell, and out of the 
southeast a succession of huge foam-crested rollers 
came tumbling. Stanch as the yacht was, it would 
have been madness to attempt anything but keeping 
her head to the storm. Like a bird she soared up 

149 


150 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


the steep sides of the billows, to plunge like a shot 
down the slope beyond, while her engines raced like 
mad as the water fell away from her stern and left 
the propeller for the instant exposed. 

Well drenched, Val, Cal, and Bangs burst into the 
engine room. Fenderson, the deck hand, was cling- 
ing to the hand-rail of the stoke-hole steps, and 
looked extremely apprehensive. 

At Bangs’ orders he had opened the furnace door 
and closed the draughts. In consequence, the 
steam-gauge was dropping steadily. 

Val’s experience in marine engineering had been 
gained during a summer’s employment on an island 
steamer in Stroudport Bay. His position had been 
that of clerk; but, being naturally of a mechanical 
turn of mind, he had ingratiated himself with the 
engineer, who good-naturedly explained the practical 
workings of his engines, condensers, pumps, and 
boiler. On several dull days, when travel was light 
and his duties not onerous, Val had been allowed to 
take charge, for a short time, of the throttle, under 
the supervision of the engineer. 

“If you know anything about this,” exclaimed 
Bangs, indicating the machinery with a nervous 
gesture, “for heaven’s sake set it right.” 

Val’s first glances were at the steam and water 
gauges. The first showed but fifty pounds pres- 
sure; the second was so affected by the yacht’s pitch- 
ing that it was difficult to determine how much water 
the boiler actually contained. The machinery he 


“FIRE” ON THE “SEA ROVERS 151 


found to be of a pattern almost identical with that he 
was familiar with. 

“Shut your furnace door, and rouse up the fire,” 
he called to the dejected deck hand, who promptly 
complied. Val then started the injector, and in the 
course of ten minutes, both gauges showed a decided 
improvement. 

Meanwhile, having oiled up thoroughly, Val ap- 
plied himself to relieving as much as possible the 
strain brought on the engines by the racing of the 
propeller; for when, as the yacht pitched down a 
wave, the screw was clear of the water, the engines, 
relieved of their load, worked furiously until the 
vibrations shook the hull from stem to stern. A 
careful partial closing of the throttle when she began 
to race, and reopening when the propeller was again 
submerged, helped matters wonderfully, though it 
was rq^notonous work. 

Val, however, was enough of a mechanic to know 
that the propeller shaft might develop a flaw and be 
twisted off by these terrific starts and slow-downs, 
and enough of a seaman to foretell what would be- 
come of the “Sea Rover” if she lost her motive power 
and rolled into the trough of the waves. 

Bangs stood an anxious spectator of it all, and 
when he was able to see an improvement, worked 
his way over to Val and said: — 

“Will you take charge here for the present? 
Remember, it means your life, as well as ours.” 

If this request had been made a few short hours 


152 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


previous, it would have been refused with scorn. 
But conditions had changed. Val merely nodded. 

“Yes, if you’ll take your man away and let Morse 
fire.” 

This arrangement was finally made. Cal took 
up the shovel, and Bangs escorted Fenderson to the 
wheel-house, where a man was needed to relieve the 
worn-out mate. 

Some time later Bangs came stumbling in with a 
piping hot breakfast for the boys, which proved very 
acceptable. 

The hours slowly passed. By nine o’clock the 
fury of the storm had considerably abated. Though 
the wind still blew a gale, and the rain fell heavily, 
yet the sea was not so tempestuous. The yacht 
did not pitch so violently, nor the engines show such 
a tendency to race. 

It must be admitted that Val and Cal no^ found 
themselves extremely weary. Blankets were pro- 
cured, and half-hour naps indulged in by each in 
alternation for some time, till both of the boys were 
considerably refreshed. 

At noon Bangs announced dinner; but instead of 
having it brought to the engine room, the boys ate, 
one after the other, at the saloon table. By three 
in the afternoon the sea had gone down so that it 
was deemed prudent to put the yacht on her course, 
as nearly as it could be determined, though rain 
still fell and the wind still blew. 

So presently the “Sea Rover” was cutting the waves 


“FIRE” ON THE “SEA ROVER” 153 


diagonally in an easterly direction, and threatening 
to put her stack under with every roll. 

Night closed down over a dismal, rain-swept 
sea, but the yacht steamed steadily onward. Some 
hours passed, when another danger threatened. The 
coal supply was running short. Bangs, who made 
periodic visits to the engine room, was speedily 
made acquainted with this fact. With a perturbed 
face, he hurried to the pilot-house to consult 
Bruce. 

But scarcely had he left, when the yacht’s rolling 
materially subsided, and the gong rang to stop. 
The “Sea Rover” had run into smooth water. 

Closing the throttle, Val slid back the starboard 
door, and both boys emerged on deck. Peering 
through the gloom and drenching rain, they dimly 
distinguished a dark mass on the water off to wind- 
ward, and from it a light feebly glimmered. 

“We’ve run into the lee of some island,” ex- 
claimed Cal. “See that light?” 

As soon as he understood the yacht’s situation, 
Val hastily returned to the engine room. A plan 
for escape had entered his head, and he hurried to 
put it into execution. 

Seizing a huge wad of cotton-waste, such as is 
used for cleaning machinery, he saturated it with 
cylinder oil. Then, leaping down into the stoke- 
hole, he deposited the cotton among the coal at the 
farthest end of the port bunker. A match was 
hastily applied, and when the oil was fairly burning, 


154 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


a second wad of dry waste was piled on the blaze 
to create a dense smudge. 

Eor a moment the young skipper watched his 
fire to assure himself it would burn; then he climbed 
to the engine room. 

“Huh,” sniffed Cal, entering at that moment. 
“Something’s afire. I smell smoke.” 

“Sh-h!” returned his companion, as he bolted 
the starboard door. “Good-by, old man. I’m 
going to try and get ashore. You’d better go for- 
ward and stay a few minutes. I’ve started a harm- 
less smudge below there to take attention from my 
movements. Or will you come with me?” 

“I can’t, Val,” replied Cal, with deep regret. 
“Good luck to you. I hope you’ll succeed in es- 
caping; and then come back for the gang.” 

The two clasped hands, and Cal went forward. 

At that moment the gong rang for half-speed 
ahead. Val stepped out on the port deck, and 
closed the door after him. Bangs and Bruce were 
in the wheel-house; the engineer was still uncon- 
scious in his berth, and the deck hand was sleeping 
the sleep of the weary near him. 

Ding! Ding! 

The mate was getting impatient. He repeated 
his signal. The answer was startling and unex- 
pected. 

“Fire! Fire!” shrieked Val, with all his lungs. 
“Fire in the engine room! ” 

Rattle — slam — bang ! The pilot-house door 


“FIRE” ON THE “SEA ROVER” 155 


slid open. Footsteps and ejaculations of alarm 
sounded as Bangs and Bruce hurried to the scene of 
the trouble. Down the starboard ladder scrambled 
Bangs — Bruce the port. 

As for Val, he hurried aft and waited, breath- 
less, while Bangs stormed for a moment at the locked 
starboard door. When that worthy had run around 
by the forward deck to the port door of the engine 
room, the young skipper stole noiselessly ahead on 
the starboard side to where the tender hung from 
the midship davits. With his heart in his mouth 
Val cut the lashings, and lowered the boat, one end 
at a time, till it rested upon the water. 

Within the engine room a terrific coughing and 
spluttering was going on as Bangs and Bruce inves- 
tigated the “fire”; but save for the utterance of a 
grim chuckle, Val paid no heed. 

This time the oars were in the tender. Brandon 
entered the boat, cast off the falls, shipped the oars, 
and pulled hurriedly away toward the black lump 
on the water to windward. 

He had gone perhaps a hundred yards, when, 
looking back, he saw the engine room door open 
and two forms were silhouetted against the lighted 
interior. 

Val paused a moment, for he could not resist the 
temptation, and threw back a sarcastic farewell. 

“Good-by, Major. Ta-ta! ” 


CHAPTER XVII 


VAL GOES ASHORE 

When Bruce slid back the port engine room door, 
he found the room blue with smoke. Loudly he called 
for the engineer and fireman, and, getting no re- 
sponse, entered, followed presently by Bangs. 

“ Where’s the fire?” was the Major’s anxious 
query. “Why don’t you start the fire pump?” 

“Why don’t I start a camp meeting?” retorted 
Bruce, ironically, as he descended to the stoke-hole. 
“I think the fire’s down here.” 

Bruce was not long in finding the smoldering 
cotton-waste, and with much choking and splutter- 
ing, gathered it upon a shovel and hurried upon 
deck. 

“There’s your fire,” he ejaculated, contempt- 
uously, as he tossed the contents of the shovel over 
the rail. 

“What does it mean?” cried Bangs, perplexed. 

“That you’d better look out for Brandon and 
Morse.” 

Bangs smote himself on the head. 

“Blast me for a fool!” he exclaimed, and raising 
his voice, called loudly for Val and Cal. 

“Here,” returned Cal, walking to the engine room 

156 


VAL GOES ASHORE 


157 


from the forward deck, where he had been berating 
himself for what he termed his “foolheadedness.” 

“ Oh, you’re here, are you ? ” was Bangs’ relieved 
expression. “Where’s Brandon?” 

“How should I know? Am I his keeper?” 

“See to the boat, Bruce,” instantly shouted Bangs, 
thoroughly aroused. 

Bruce crossed the engine room, unbolted and 
opened the starboard door, and stepped on deck, 
followed by the excited Major. 

The davits were empty. The falls swung to and 
fro in the wind. 

“Gone!” exclaimed Bangs, fiercely, ripping out 
an oath. “The scamp’s gone!” 

Leaning on the rail, the pair for a few moments 
gazed anxiously into the gloom, and as they looked and 
listened, Val’s sarcastic farewell came to their ears. 

Bangs danced about for a moment in an ecstasy 
of rage. 

“Drop your anchor, Bruce,” he finally said, con- 
trolling his feelings with an effort. “We’ll stop 
here. I’ll have that boy if I have to chase him a 
thousand miles.” 

Events on the yacht now followed each other in 
quick succession. Fenderson was routed out of his 
bunk; the anchor was dropped; the fires banked 
under the boiler; Bangs escorted Cal to the cabin, 
and greatly to that youth’s indignation and dismay, 
forthwith handcuffed him. 

“Shut up,” the Major responded to Cal’s remon- 


158 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


strances. “I take no more chances. That agree- 
ment is off.” 

Leaving Cal a prey to the gloomiest of thoughts, 
Bangs went forward and held a hasty consultation 
with the mate. 

“ You’re dead sure you don’t know where we 
are ? ” he began. 

“We are near our island,” his companion replied; 
“but who’s to know if this is it?” 

“Brandon will be ashore by this time,” said 
Bangs, growing agitated. “If this isn’t our island, 
do you realize what that will mean? ” 

“Yes, he’ll try to set the officers on us; but we 
can checkmate his game.” 

“How?” 

“Why, if there’s to be a scrimmage, we open the 
battle ourselves.” 

“Explain yourself,” demanded the Major, be- 
ginning to catch the drift of the mate’s remarks. 

“Brandon has the dots on us,” went on Bruce, 
“if we let him go quietly ashore and tell his yarn. 
Of course, we can clear out; but that means the loss 
of the whole game.” 

Bangs nodded. 

“Now I say chase him up; raise a howl after him; 
d’ye understand ? We do the arousing of the author- 
ities — cry ‘stop thief,’ as it were — bluff it out. 
Then his story will go at a discount, and we’ll retake 
him on some pretext or other. That’s my idea. 
What do you think? ” 


VAL GOES ASHORE 


159 


“A close chance, but worth trying. But kindly 
inform me how we will get ashore? ” 

“ There’s a life-raft aboard, fitted with oars; that 
will answer.” 

From the “Rover’s” deck a few moments later a 
rocket burned its fiery path skyward. A second, 
and a third, followed, and meantime Bruce and the 
deck hand placed the life-raft in the water. 

Bangs was initiating the plan of arousing the sup- 
posed inhabitants, and after each burning messenger 
ascended, looked and listened for signs of life from 
shore. 

The light which was at first visible presently went 
out; but reappeared almost instantly, and moved 
about in such an erratic manner that Bangs became 
convinced some one was approaching the shore with 
a lantern. 

“We’ve started somebody,” he announced tri- 
umphantly, as Bruce came forward to say the raft 
was ready. “D’ye see that light?” 

For some moments the light pursued its wayward 
course, then disappeared completely; and although 
another rocket was sent up and all hands looked and 
listened for some minutes, nothing was seen or 
heard indicating life ashore. Then Bangs and the 
deck hand boarded the raft. 

Val tugged away lustily at the oars until it became 
apparent he was nearly ashore. The rain now 
ceased, and thinning clouds allowed the moonlight 
to sift through a little. What had at first been only a 


160 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


black blotch upon the sea rapidly resolved itself into 
land, with patches of woods dimly visible here and 
there. 

Directly ahead was a high wooded promontory. 
Running in by this Val found himself in the mouth 
of a deep natural harbor. Not caring to land in a 
tangle of underbrush, he rowed along until finally 
the tender grated upon a sandy beach at the head of 
the land-locked bay. 

Leaping ashore, he drew the light boat well up out 
of reach of the tide; and while he worked, a sudden 
“whish,” accompanied by a flash of light, startled 
him. It was Bangs’ first rocket. 

Considerably puzzled by what seemed a very 
foolish move on the part of his late captors — for 
under the circumstances Val thought it behooved 
them to keep as dark as possible — the young skip- 
per now looked about for the best way inland. 

A second and third rocket burned flaming paths 
aloft; but only served to quicken Val’s movements. 
Back of the narrow beach was a high bluff, up which 
Brandon climbed, to find himself presently in a tan- 
gle of dripping bayberry bushes. Soon, however, 
he stumbled into a path that made travel through 
the thickets mflch easier. 

The light which had been visible from the yacht 
was nowhere to be seen; but of a sudden a loud 
“ Halloo ” came from the gloom ahead, and through 
the high bushes and sapling growth came glimpses 
of a light, dancing hither and thither like a will-0’- 


VAL GOES ASHORE 


161 


the- wisp. As Val plunged forward, a man, carrying 
a lighted lantern, came hurrying around a sharp turn 
in the path, and collided forcibly with the young 
skipper. 

The force of the collision sent Val staggering back. 
His assailant, flinging his lantern to one side, with a 
cry of “Howly murther! ” toppled over into the 
bushes at the other. 

There was a sudden “ crack — crack,” as the 
thicket yielded to the stranger’s weight — a slipping, 
scratching sound, and a thud. Then a moment of 
utter stillness. 

Val recovered himself, and peered excitedly 
about, little the worse for the encounter. The lan- 
tern had been extinguished by the fall, but his first 
act was to relight it. 

There was a break in the bushes where the stran- 
ger had fallen, and now a very lusty groan told of 
his presence close at hand, and indicated that the 
shock had by no means killed him. 

Moving in the direction of the groans, Val had 
not gone a foot from the path before he found him- 
self on the edge of a pit, which the lantern showed to 
be some dozen feet square, and possibly two thirds 
as deep. Its edges were everywhere overhung by 
a tangled growth of bushes. The sides were stoned 
up. Evidently it was an old cellar. 

At the bottom of this wet and dismal hole, with 
only the whiteness of his face visible in the dim 
light, sat the stranger. 


162 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


“Halloo, there!” called Val. “Are you hurt?” 

For an instant there was no reply. The man 
seemed to be taking an inventory of himself. Then 
came the answer in an unmistakable Irish brogue. 

“Am Oi hurt, is it? Oh, not at all, at all. Oi 
jusht fell down here for fun, me bye. It’s a way 
Oi have wid me.” 

At this ironical retort Val laughed outright. 

“Hold on, there,” he exclaimed, as the Irishman 
essayed to rise. “Wait a moment and I’ll give you 
a lift.” 

The fallen man was evidently not much hurt. 
Brandon set down the lantern and lowered himself 
into the pit. 

No sooner did he alight, with considerable force, 
at the bottom of the old cellar, than the ground 
opened beneath him, and despite frantic clutches at 
the edges of the orifice, he was precipitated feet first 
down a yawning, well-like shaft! 


CHAPTER XVIII 


AN OLD ENEMY REAPPEARS 

As Val Brandon felt the ground' of the old cellar 
yield under him, his first thought was that the de- 
cayed covering of some old well or cistern had broken 
beneath his weight. But after a straight drop of 
maybe ten feet, great was his joy to alight unhurt 
upon soft sand, instead of in a pool of water, as he 
half expected. 

If meeting the Irishman had been a surprise, this 
later adventure was a complete astonishment. Pitch 
darkness surrounded him, and the air was stagnant 
and laden with the odor of decaying wood. 

A match was hastily lighted. Its dim flare showed 
Val that he had tumbled into a subterranean pas- 
sage, narrow and low, whose sides and top were 
boarded with half-decayed rough-hewn planks. 
Having gotten thus far in his inspection, his light 
went out. 

“This is a go,” he muttered, fumbling for more 
matches, of which, luckily, he had a generous supply. 
“Who would have thought — I wonder what in the 
world this tunnel is here for? 

“Perhaps pirates — maybe smugglers — have been 
163 


164 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


here; but long ago,” decided the captain of the 
“ Spitfire,” as he peered first in one direction, then 
the other. 

The sandy floor of the passage showed no foot- 
print save his own; there was nothing to indicate 
recent occupancy. Overhead appeared a trap-door, 
now closed, and an arrangement of chains and 
weights connected with it told Val that it had closed 
automatically after he had fallen through. A ladder 
fastened against the wall led up to it. 

But visions of smugglers, pirates, and stolen 
treasure, conjured up by the sight of the mysterious 
underground passage, vanished suddenly from Val’s 
mind. Out went his third match, just as a voice 
overhead asked, in agitated and muffled tones: — 

“Arrah there, beloo. Are yez kilt entoirely?” 

The trap-door was pushed open with a creak of 
chains and weights. 

“Am I hurt?” returned Val, remembering the 
Irishman’s response to his own inquiry. “Oh, not 
at all. I just fell down here for fun. It’s just a 
way I have with me.” 

“Thrue for yez,” was the response, in a jolly tone. 
“But kin yez climb out?” 

For answer Val scrambled up the ladder and 
regained the cellar. The trap, which swung either 
way, up or down, closed automatically after him. 

“What kind of a hole is that down there, anyhow ? ” 
he demanded, when they had regained the path. 

“Faith, an’ I dunno. An ould well, Oi’m thinkin’. 


AN OLD ENEMY REAPPEARS 165 


Oi niver seen it befoor nor sinse, an’ Oi’ve no wish 
to again. 

“Oi say,” he demanded suddenly, picking up 
the lantern, and thrusting it into Val’s face. “An’ 
who might you be? 

“Yis,” he went on, before Val could reply, “an’ 
will yez tell me who’s a-shootin’ foireworruks off out 
to say?” 

“That’s the steam-yacht ‘Sea Rover,’ ” replied Val, 
“and I want you to tell me where ” 

He was not allowed to finish. The Irishman 
seized him about the waist, and executed a wild jig, 
in evident delight. 

“At lasht, thank hivins, ye’ve arroived,” he shouted 
delightedly, presently desisting from his jig, but 
slapping Val enthusiastically on the shoulder. 
“Begorra, an’ glad it is Oi am to behold yez, an’ 
me a-dyin’ of loneliness on this shpooky ould oiland 
fur foive days a-runnin’, wid niver a soul to shpake 
to at all.” 

The light of a - great, unwelcome truth broke in 
upon Val’s bewilderment. 

“Holy smoke!” he muttered. “I’ll bet dollars 
to doughnuts this is the very place Bangs was try- 
ing to reach. 

“Then we’ve hit the right place, have we?” asked 
Val, in deep doubt what course to pursue, and 
parleying for time and information. 

“This is Tower Oiland, as shure’s me name is Mike 
Mecorrigan. An’ whin’s the Major to come ashore ?” 


166 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


“He may come at once, and perhaps not till morn- 
ing, ” said Val, diplomatically. “I came ahead to 
make sure what place it was. Where do you live, 
and isn’t there any one else on the island?” 

“Niver a soul,” replied Mike. “Come up to 
the house wid me. Shure it’s but an ould ark, an’ 
all failin’ to paces; but it’s a trifle betther nor wet 
bushes. Begorra, an’ it’s good for sore eyes to be- 
hold yez.” 

Mike took the lead, and Val, in much perplexity 
of mind, followed. By leaving the yacht for the 
island, he had seemingly jumped from the frying- 
pan into the fire, for his actions would only serve to 
incense his recent captors, without improving his con- 
dition. Bangs would certainly manage to get ashore 
by daybreak. How was he to elude his clutches ? 

“At any rate,” he thought, “I’ll pump the Irish- 
man to see what he knows of the Major’s schemes, 
and trust to the future to take care of itself.” 

The pair presently emerged from the thickets into 
a grove of large trees. The moon, now visible, re- 
vealed in the midst of the grove a huge old stone 
house/ two and a half stories high, with a tower 
rising at one corner, and a one-story wooden ell, 
or lean-to, at the back. 

Though the light was dim and uncertain, Val 
could see that everything was in a state of dilapida- 
tion. Some of the windows were boarded up, others 
were destitute of glass, while the lean-to seemed to 
shrink away from the house as though afraid of it. 


AN OLD ENEMY REAPPEARS 167 


“What an old ark!” 

Mike kicked open the front door without ceremony, 
and ushered his companion inside, where the appear- 
ance of the interior fully justified Val’s exclama- 
tion. 

In the hallway, that ran from front to back, the 
walls, once plastered, now showed in myriad places 
the split boards that had served as lathing. The 
staircase that formerly led to the second floor was 
tumbled in ruins. Cobwebs hung in festoons every- 
where. 

“Shure an’ it is an ould ark,” responded Mike, 
leading the way into a side room. Here the walls 
were also denuded of plaster, but the cobwebs had 
been swept down, doubtless by Mike. 

At one side was a fireplace, almost big enough to 
take in a small cottage. A big box, a chair or two 
of modern pattern, an oil stove, a mattress and 
blankets on the floor, and a few other things, evi- 
dently brought by Mike, were revealed by the light 
of the lantern which Mr. Mecorrigan placed on the 
box. 

“Upon me sowl,” he declared, as Val gazed about 
the dismal place, “this be for-rty shades worrus than 
me ancistral palace on the ould sod. But take a 
sate.” 

Mike lighted a stubby pipe, and sat down to en- 
joy a smoke and a talk; and Val was on the point 
of accepting his companion’s invitation when his 
ear caught a sound outside. 


168 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


There came a loud banging at the door — which 
Mike had carefully fastened after their entrance. 
A voice — none other than Major Bangs’ — uttered 
an emphatic summons. 

“Open up here. Open up, I say! Mike, you 
dunderhead, wake up and open this door!” 


CHAPTER XIX 


VAL AND THE MAJOR TRY CONCLUSIONS 

Major Bangs was ashore, and his loud tones 
boded no good for Val Brandon if he should be 
caught in his present position. 

Uttering an exclamation of surprise, Mike started 
to his feet and went to the door, and Val realized 
that he had no time to lose. The room had two 
doors, one leading into the hall, by which he had 
come, and another at the back, which was closed. 
To this latter door he gave his attention; it was fas- 
tened. He glanced at the windows; they were 
securely shuttered, or boarded up. 

But the ceiling overhead gave him an idea. In 
the center was a square hole, fitted with a cover on 
the upper side. Val had not the slightest idea what 
was overhead, nor did he waste time in considering 
that point. To escape from the Major he must act, 
and at once. 

Sliding the box to a point immediately under the 
scuttle, he placed a chair upon it, and climbed to 
the top of the pile. Here he could reach the open- 
ing, and found that the cover yielded to his hand. 
He shoved it aside, and grasping the edges of the 
casing, gave a vigorous jump upward. 

169 


170 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


Meanwhile the Major gained entrance to the 
house, and entered the room just as Val’s feet left 
the chair. 

Val’s head and shoulders were indistinguishable 
in the dusk, but Bangs had no difficulty in recog- 
nizing his late prisoner, and he uttered an exclama- 
tion of exultation. But before he could make a 
movement to retard Brandon’s ascent, that per- 
son’s energetic movements upset the chair, the 
lantern was knocked from the box and extinguished, 
and everything was plunged in gloom. 

“Bring a light, Mike,” shouted Bangs. “Bran- 
don is trying to escape. Hurry up.” 

“Faith, an’ what are yez a-sayin’ ? ” queried Mike, 
in wonder, groping his way into the room. “What 
in the worruld have yez gone and did wid the loight, 
and thot the only lan them in the ould shebang?” 

“ Pick it up, and light it, quick. There’s a fellow 
here we want to catch, and he’s climbing up through 
a hole in the ceiling.” 

“Shure, an’ he said he was one of the par-rty,” 
exclaimed Mike, in surprise, as he fumbled for the 
lantern, “a-come on ahid to see if everything was all 
roight.” 

“And I suppose he pumped you of all you knew,” 
growled the Major, angrily. “Hurry up with that 
light. You’re slower than death.” 

“An’ sorra a pump did he thry on me,” responded 
Mike, soothingly, scratching a match, “for yez can’t 
pump wather out of a dhry well.” 


VAL AND MAJOR TRY CONCLUSIONS 171 


The lantern was soon relighted, but the chimney 
had been broken by the fall, and the flame flickered 
and smoked dismally. Bangs seized it and ran back 
into the hall; but the staircase he looked for was not 
there. 

“ Aren’t there any stairs in this heathenish place ? ” 
he inquired impatiently. 

“Not a wan,” replied Mike. “Nor ony illevator, 
aither.” 

“How do you get upstairs, then? ” 

“Begobs,” said the Irishman, scratching his head, 
“I don’t. Downstairs wor as much as me stum- 
mack could shtand, widout makin’ nadeless excur- 
sions aloft.” 

“Put the chair on the table,” Bangs ordered, step- 
ping back into the room. The affair had now taken 
an aggravating turn, and he felt that valuable time 
was being lost. 

The Irishman complied; the Major hastily climbed 
to the top of the pile, reached up and grasped the 
edges of the opening in the ceiling, and was about 
to follow Val into the darkness overhead. But sud- 
denly his hands slipped from their hold, the chair 
twisted under his feet, and with a howl of pain, 
Bangs half fell, half jumped to the floor; over went 
the lantern again, and once more all was plunged 
in gloom, while a voice overhead was heard to 
remark: — 

“Oh, come up, Major. Why don’t you come 
up?” 


172 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


“You just wait,” gritted Bangs. “I will come 
up, and when I do you’ll dance Jerusalem! ” 

Mike again lighted the lantern, and its dim light 
revealed the Major nursing his bruised fingers. 

“Haven’t you got a ladder somewhere?” he 
asked roughly, when a moment’s examination had 
satisfied himself he was not seriously injured. “If 
you have, trot it out, and don’t stand there gaping 
like a lunatic. I’ll have that upstart out of there 
if I have to bring the house about his ears.” 

Thus adjured, Mike went out of doors, and pres- 
ently returned dragging an ancient ladder, which 
was nothing more nor less than a long post with 
cross-pieces nailed upon it at intervals of every 
dozen inches. 

“Hurry up,” ordered Bangs, as sounds of crash- 
ing glass and splintering wood came from the second 
story. Mike quickly set up the ladder in the open- 
ing where the staircase had once been, and the 
Major prepared to ascend. 

“Now, young Brandon,” he muttered viciously, 
“we’ll see who will laugh.” 

When Val climbed into the second story of the old 
house, the moonlight showed him a room as dilapi- 
dated as the one beneath, and of the same size. 
There was a single doorway, opening into a hall- 
way corresponding to the one on the first floor. 

Across the hall was another door, but a hasty trial 
of the latch — there were no knobs on any doors in 
the house he had yet seen — showed it to be fastened 


VAL AND MAJOR TRY CONCLUSIONS 173 

His range on this floor was thus limited to the one 
room and the hallway. 

During this hasty inspection, Bangs’ angry tones 
were audible below, and Val now gave his attention 
to the movements of the enemy. Through the 
aperture in the floor of the room and the opening in 
the floor of the hall, where the staircase had once 
been, he could obtain glimpses of his foes whenever 
the lantern happened to be alight. It was at this 
juncture that Bangs had essayed to climb up, and 
had his knuckles well rapped as a result. 

But Val clearly realized that his elusion of the 
Major would only be temporary, unless he escaped 
from the house, and sundry remarks uttered by that 
burly rascal while Mike was gone for the ladder did 
not tend to lessen the uneasiness the young yachts- 
man felt at his unpleasant position. 

He was unarmed, while the Major, and probably 
all his gang, had weapons. Although he might 
keep them out of the second story for a while, yet 
he could not long resist, and now looked eagerly 
about for some way of escape. 

He recalled that there was a one-story ell at the 
back of the mansion. Hurrying to the rear of the hall- 
way, he peered through the window there, and found 
himself overlooking the sloping roof of the lean-to. 

Across the lower edge of this roof stretched the 
long branch of a tree. Here appeared a way of 
escape, and he hastened to make use of it. 

The ancient window sash was securely nailed in 


174 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


place. The panes were small, and fully half the 
squares bristled with broken glass. Some sort of a 
cudgel was necessary to break out, and Val be- 
thought himself of the scuttle cover. On his return 
through the hall with the article named, he caught 
a glimpse of Mike entering the hall below with the 
ladder. There was no mistaking the use to which 
Bangs intended putting it, and Val was sorely 
tempted to stand his ground and give him a hearty 
thumping with the scuttle cover as he came up. 

Not stopping, however, to continue a resistance 
which he knew would in the end be disastrous, since 
Bangs must soon be reinforced by his confederates, 
Val returned to the window. A vigorous sweep 
with the cover cleared the sash of wood and glass. 

It also hastened the Major’s operations, for as Val 
put himself through the opening he had made, and 
paused momentarily after gaining the roof, glancing 
back he saw a head and shoulders suddenly rise 
into view through the aperture in the hall floor, 
while a voice shouted : — 

“Stop, you rascal! Stop, I say! ” 

But after all that had occurred, Val could see in 
this remark no especial inducement to return. He 
crept cautiously down the wet and slippery roof to 
the branch. In almost the time it takes to tell it the 
branch was reached, and getting astride it, Val 
worked his way along toward the tree. A noise 
behind announced the Major’s arrival at the win- 
dow. 


VAL AND MAJOR TRY CONCLUSIONS 175 


Ping! A bullet from the Major’s revolver hur- 
tled past, and Val promptly flattened himself on the 
limb. He would have risked a drop to the ground 
beneath, but in the shadow of the building the dusk 
was so deep that he could not tell what was under 
him. 

“ Brandon,” the Major’s voice quickly followed 
the pistol shot. “ Brandon, come back here.” 

“ Thank you, but I prefer to stay where I am,” 
responded Val, again sitting up, since the Major 
showed an inclination to parley, but working slowly 
along the limb as he talked. 

“Don’t be a fool, Brandon,” said the Major, per- 
suasively. 

“Advice is cheap,” the yachtsman replied, won- 
dering what was coming now. 

“You might as well come to my terms first as last,” 
went on the Major. 

“What are your terms?” inquired Val, though he 
could guess the reply. 

“Give yourself up, and promise not to escape. 
We’ll give you plenty to eat, and the range of the 
island.” 

“And if I don’t ? ” Val asked. He had now reached 
the tree, though so dim was the light he doubted if 
Bangs knew his position had been changed. 

“If you do not,” was Bangs’ energetic response, 
“you will either starve or be shot on sight by the 
first one of us who catches you. Now will you 
come with us?” 


176 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


“No,” responded Val, boldly, as he set foot on 
a lower limb, preparatory to descending. “I’ll 
starve or be shot first.” 

He swung himself lightly down, taking good care 
to keep the trunk of the tree between himself and the 
Major’s pistol; but contrary to his expectations, there 
was no second shot — only a loud, sarcastic laugh. 

The next moment Val felt a hand clutch one of 
his ankles as it swung in mid-air, and an Irish voice 
said exultantly: — 

“Oi’ve got ye, me bye. Oi’ve got ye, ye spal- 
peen.” 

Val gave a gasp. It was Mike, whose existence 
he had momentarily forgotten. Like a flash he 
understood why the Major had wished to parley. 
It was to give Mike time to reach the tree before he 
could escape. 

“Hang to him, Mike,” commanded the Major, 
catching the sound of the Irishman’s voice. “If 
he tries to get away, knock him on the head.” 

From the Major’s standpoint this was doubtless 
good advice; but advice was not Mike’s greatest 
necessity. It was a trying moment for the skipper 
of the “Spitfire,” but he made the best of it. In- 
stantly he raised his free foot, as he sat on the branch, 
and brought it forcefully down upon the Irishman’s 
head, dimly visible below. 

Mike dodged, but too late. The foot struck him 
fair on the top of his cranium, and elicited a resound- 
ing howl. 


VAL AND MAJOR TRY CONCLUSIONS 177 


“Murther! Murther! Oi’m kilt; Oi’m kilt!’’ 

He let go of Val’s ankle, and that person improved 
his opportunity by clambering up into the tree, where, 
having attained a safe height, he awaited further 
developments. His way of escape had suddenly 
closed, and his heart sank as he realized the increased 
peril of his position. When daylight came, if it 
found him still in the tree, he could be forced to 
surrender at the Major’s pleasure. 

And now Bangs, finding that for some reason 
affairs were not going altogether to his liking out- 
side, but not fully understanding the status of the 
case, emerged from the window to the roof. 

“What’s the matter, Mike? Have you got him?” 
he asked, walking cautiously down the wet shingles. 
“Hang on to him like a leech.” 

“Shure, an’ the spalpeen’s wint up the tree,” 
responded the Irishman, rubbing his head; “an’ may 
the ould Nick fly away wid ’im!” 

“Went up the tree?” asked Bangs, pausing to 
gaze into the obscurity above him. “Then we’re 
all right; we’ll have him out of there by morning, 
sure’s a ” 

His jubilant sentences were unexpectedly inter- 
rupted by a warning crack-crack-crack of the roof 
timbers on which he stood. 

Then decayed shingles and rotten beams gave 
way beneath his weight. In another instant he sank 
from sight, vainly grasping in his fall at the crumbling 
edges of the orifice. Mr. Mecorrigan, who was 


178 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


nursing a rapidly rising bump on his cranium, 
uttered a loud exclamation of dismay at his employ- 
er’s mishap. 

But Val, half seeing, half guessing, what had oc- 
curred, was so amused and elated by his enemy’s 
plight that he nearly slipped from the limb whereon 
he sat. With Bangs in limbo and Mike’s attention 
thereby diverted, he saw a chance of escaping. He 
began to descend with the same celerity that had 
marked his ascent. 

But now another personage put in an appearance. 

“ Halloo ! ” called a voice from the edge of the grove. 
“Halloo, there! What’s all this row about?” 

It was the deck hand. 


CHAPTER XX 


VAL LEAVES HIS PERCH 

When a heavy man breaks through a rotten roof, 
and bruised and disheveled, falls a dozen odd feet 
upon a hard floor, the event is apt to take his mind 
off all his other troubles. 

So with Major Bangs. Very soon after striking 
bottom he found his voice, and called lustily for Mike. 
That person, distracted by the necessity of obeying 
the summons, and at the same time of keeping Val 
safely treed, solved the problem by calling on Fen- 
derson to stand guard, not being aware, in his excite- 
ment, that his prisoner had descended from his 
perch, and was making his way back to the roof. 

“Come ’ere, you,” he called, in response to the 
deck hand’s query. 

“What’s the matter, Irish?” asked Fenderson, 
approaching. “What you browsin’ round out here 
for?” 

Mr. Mecorrigan hastily explained that Brandon 
was up the tree and must be kept from escaping; 
while the leader of the enterprise had met with an 
unfortunate accident and must receive prompt atten- 
tion. 

“I’d know that by his howlin’, ” retorted Fender- 
179 


180 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


son, irreverently, for Bangs was by no means keep- 
ing silent. 

“Shtand guar-rd by the three,” commanded 
Mike, “an’ kape the young divil up thayre.” 

“An’ thot I will,” mimicked the deck hand, as 
the Irishman hastened to the Major’s relief. “Soak 
the arnica to his nibs, me bye.” 

Meantime, his movements unnoticed in the gloom 
and excitement, Val regained the roof, and avoid- 
ing the hole where Bangs had been shipwrecked, 
reentered the window through which so recently he 
had made his exit. 

Again within the house, he paused to consider his 
next move. Was he any better off there than in the 
tree ? His present location had one advantage — 
he alone knew of it ; but he could not rest here. At 
daybreak his absence from the tree would be dis- 
covered, and the house probably ransacked from 
top to bottom. Furthermore, now that Val had, in 
a way, thrown his pursuers off the scent, he desired 
to conduct his movements in secrecy, and, if pos- 
sible, leave the house unnoticed; for, being almost 
totally unacquainted with the topography of the 
island, it would be a difficult thing to find a suitable 
place of refuge unless free from pursuit. 

His hope had been to return to the boat, and leave 
the island altogether; but putting two and two 
together, he figured that the deck hand’s failure to 
arrive with the Major meant he had been searching 
for the tender; having found which he would of 


VAL LEAVES HIS PERCH 


181 


course so secure it — or at least hide the oars and 
oar-locks — as to make it useless to the young skipper. 

So in something of a quandary he crept through 
the hall. 

“Why not climb down the ladder and skip out 
the front door?” he queried, noting that the ladder 
was still in position. But Mike thwarted this plan 
by suddenly appearing in the lower hall. One hand 
carried the lantern; the other half supported Bangs, 
who staggered along tipsily, groaning at every step. 

Val wasted no sympathy on this scene. He felt 
that Bangs deserved every bruise he had received, 
and so thinking, passed into the room adjoining. 
In his previous passage through this apartment, 
Val had noticed an old bedstead in a corner, but he 
had not seen what he now espied in the ceiling, — an 
opening, the counterpart of the one at his feet. 

A wild plan of hiding in the garret, to make de- 
scents upon the lower regions when food was needed, 
flashed through his mind. Though instantly dis- 
missed as impracticable, yet it seemed a good move 
to put another floor between himself and his enemies, 
and he proceeded to do so. 

As Mike had escorted Bangs into a room on the 
other side of the house, Brandon used less caution 
about his movements. Tipping the bedstead on 
edge, he carried it on his shoulder to a position 
beneath the hole in the ceiling, and across the one in 
the floor. 

Cautiously he climbed upon the bedstead until 


182 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


he could reach the cover on the scuttle overhead; 
slid that noiselessly back, and essayed to draw him- 
self up. 

Up he went, indeed, but the bedstead, unsteady 
at best, tottered under the shock of his light jump, 
and came down, legs in the air, with a crash that 
awoke every echo in the old house. 

“I’ve queered things now, that’s sure,” he muttered 
in great disgust, as he drew himself up into the garret 
and listened intently for his enemies. 

But Bangs was perhaps too busy with his bruises 
and Mike too fully engaged with Bangs to pay atten- 
tion to the noise. At any rate, no one appeared, so 
presently Val replaced the cover on the hole, and 
peered about. 

The garret was open from side to side and end to 
end. At either end was a window, and overhead a 
skylight. But realizing now how extremely weary 
he was, Val only inspected the garret sufficiently to 
assure himself there was no means of entrance save 
that by which he had come. 

Coming across a lot of empty boxes, he piled them 
up on the scuttle so they would topple over and 
alarm him if the cover was disturbed. Then down 
on the floor he lay, and fell soundly asleep in a 
. moment. 

Slumber of several hours’ duration was ended by a 
stream of sunlight, which, entering an end window, 
fell upon Brandon’s face and woke him. Much 
refreshed in body and mind, though a trifle stiff from 


VAL LEAVES HIS PERCH 


183 


sleeping on boards, he rose at once, realizing that 
again he must be on the alert. 

Another sensation also assailed him — that of an 
empty stomach, the prospect of filling which seemed 
most dimly remote. 

And now daylight enabled Val to obtain an 
excellent idea of his surroundings. The garret 
was a huge one, and on either side the roof sloped to 
the floor. Little could be seen from the end win- 
dows or the skylight save the tops of the trees in the 
grove ; but at the southeast corner — reckoning 
direction by the position of the sun — the garret 
opened into what he previously supposed to be a 
closet, but now found to be a part of the tower. 
Here was no window, but the dim light showed a 
ladder nailed against the wall, terminating above 
at a little door in the ceiling. Climbing up, Val 
swung up this door, and climbed out on the deck of 
the tower. 

An exclamation of surprise left his lips, as he 
caught the beauty of the scene before him. He 
was high enough above the treetops to command a 
view of the entire island as it lay wrapped in light 
mist under the early sun. Rather oval in shape, it 
was perhaps a mile and a half long from north to 
south, and three quarters of that distance across 
from east to west. 

The eastern shore appeared to be extremely 
rocky; at one point to the northeast quite a pinnacle 
of stone reared itself upon the ocean's edge. The 


184 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


southwestern shore showed a strip of white beach; 
but VaPs interest centered more especially in the 
crescent-shaped bay to the northwest, which cut 
deeply in toward the island’s center. Here he 
had come ashore. The head of this bay was a 
narrow beach, backed by a high bluff, as he had 
previously found. The mouth of the harbor curved 
out of sight behind the high wooded headland to 
the left. The north shore was formed by a long 
curved strip of land, covered with sand and bushes, 
its shape suggesting a finger crooked, half shut. 

Beyond this strip the “Sea Rover” lazily rose and 
fell, apparently just where she had first anchored; 
but as she was fully a mile distant, Val could not 
tell if any one was astir on board, nor could he see 
whether or not the tender was on the beach. 

The whole island appeared to be an almost worth- 
less agglomeration of sand and rocks, which patches 
of bushes and stretches of waving beach grass made 
attempts at concealing. Save for the grove about 
the house, and the wooded promontory near the 
harbor mouth, there was scarce a full-grown tree 
upon it. 

Having completed his inspection, Val sat down, 
and leaning back against the parapet that topped 
the tower, resolutely faced the situation. 

He found himself practically a prisoner, but 
worse off, in that he had nothing to eat and was 
wofully hungry. Mike had spoken truthfully 
when he said no one else lived on the island; and 


VAL LEAVES HIS PERCH 


185 


Bangs controlled the food supply. It forced itself 
home to Val that liberty with nothing to eat was 
rather a poor article after all. 

“If something doesn’t turn up before night I shall 
have to surrender,” he admitted finally, “for I 
haven’t the least desire to go home a ghost.” 

Rising presently, he took a last exhaustive stare 
around. Imprudently leaning over the edge of the 
parapet, he caught sight of Mike staring up at him. 

Val drew back, but too late. Mike had seen him, 
and instantly rushed into the house to give the 
alarm. 

“ Again the fight is on,” muttered Val, as he hur- 
ried down the ladder, intending to make at the gar- 
ret scuttle the battle he felt must now come. “Hang 
my beastly carelessness!” 

As he alighted from the ladder, his toe caught in 
something metallic on the floor. He stooped and 
found an iron ring bolted to the planking. 

As his eyes became accustomed to the dusk of 
the tower room, they made out a square in the floor- 
ing. 

“This is worth following up,” he thought. “It 
looks very much like a trap-door.” 

A mighty tug at the ring made the door buckle, 
but it did not open. The tower floor above had 
leaked, and the trap-door was swollen. 

Sounds on the floor below now indicated the 
approach of his foes. 

“He musht have wint up here,” Mike’s voice 


186 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


said. Then came a shoving of boards out in the 
main garret, and Val’s box pile toppled with a 
crash. 

“Now the ladder, quick,” came in Bangs’ 
familiar tones. “What’s this bedstead bottom- 
side up here for? He must have climbed up on it; 
but how he ever left the tree beats me.” 

Brandon tugged at the trap with fierce energy. 
After infinite effort it yielded, revealing darkness 
beneath, broken by rays of light that crept in here 
and there through cracks and chinks. 

Haste was all-important. If no escape offered 
here, Val must be on the offensive at the scuttle, 
where sounds now indicated that the ladder was 
being set up. 

To his joy, his groping hands found a ladder 
beneath the trap. 

With a muttered exclamation of thankfulness the 
young skipper lowered himself into the darkness. 
As he pulled the trap-door shut above him, hasty 
footsteps sounded on the garret floor. 


CHAPTER XXI 


VAL OPENS A COMMISSARY DEPARTMENT 

Down a rickety ladder a” dozen feet long Val 
clambered, paying no attention to the footsteps 
above him, which indicated that Mike and the 
Major were searching for him. 

He brought up on a landing, where he found 
nothing save rough walls, gloom, and a hole in the 
floor, through which a second ladder projected. 
Again he descended, and this time it was all of 
twenty-five feet before he reached a dirt bottom. 
Here the darkness was intense. 

“This must be the cellar,” Brandon mused, strik- 
ing a light. But the match light showed nothing 
save a narrow passage leading off into darkness, 
and a bundle of sticks against the wall, which proved 
to be pitch-pine. 

“Halloo, a torch!” he exclaimed in exultation. 
“This is luck, and I’ll bet a cent this is the end 
of that old tunnel I fell into last night.” 

When he had a pitch knot flaring well, in good 
spirits for one so hungry — and with so poor a show, 
apparently, of getting a square meal — he started 
down the tunnel. This, he concluded, must lead 
straight to the water. Where else, in the nature 


188 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


of things, could it lead ? But to his dismay, a dozen 
paces farther brought him up against the end of the 
passage, a wall of rock. 

Slowly he retraced his steps, peering high and low 
for some concealed way of exit. The roof, which 
was of planking, seemed in one spot to have a trap 
in it. Up went the torch against it, and his sur- 
mise proved true. The passage, which its builders 
had ended in a pocket, changed its level here for a 
higher one. The trap lifted with little effort, the 
torch was flung through, and Val, after a deal of 
scrambling, followed suit. 

“ That’s a neat blind,” he cogitated, as he shut 
the trap after him and looked about; for the upper 
passage extended fully twenty feet over and beyond 
the trap, where in turn it ended against a blank 
wall. 

Resuming his journey, Val hurried onward. The 
walls of the passage were here and there of rock — 
here and there of planking, moldy and decaying. 
This led Val to believe that the basis of the tunnel 
was a natural rock passage, which had been sup- 
plemented as necessary by planking a way through 
the sand. 

“At any rate, some one put in hard work on this 
tunnel,” he thought, “and it must have taken a deal 
of time. I’d give my old shoes to know who built it, 
and the old house. It’s the most like my idea of a 
pirate’s retreat of anything I ever saw.” 

Which was undoubtedly true, since his eyes had 


VAL’S COMMISSARY DEPARTMENT 189 


never beheld anything that in the least resembled 
his present surroundings. 

Although Val had thus far succeeded in putting 
the best possible face on his unpleasant situation, 
yet it must not be thought that he did not feel con- 
siderable alarm, or, to say the least, anxiety, as to 
the probable outcome of his defiant attitude toward 
the Major. 

Bangs was fond of using blustering language, but 
he could not help feeling there might be a grain of 
truth in the man’s assertion that he, Val, would 
either starve to death or be shot at sight by one 
of the gang. 

The more Val considered his situation, the more 
he became convinced that it was a highly unsatis- 
factory one, and as he moved along the uncanny 
subterranean passage, his spirits became more and 
more depressed. The present was uncertain, and 
the future seemed to offer little hope. 

“I may be a fool for not accepting the Major’s 
terms, after all,” he admitted dejectedly. “But I 
made my choice,” he continued, more deter- 
minedly, “and, like General Grant, I’ll fight it 
out on this line if it takes all summer,” for Val 
was not yet quite hungry enough to fully realize 
that a soldier cannot fight well on an empty 
stomach. 

“Halloo!” 

This exclamation was called forth by the abrupt 
widening of the passage into an apartment some 


190 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


dozen feet square, and Brandon, standing in its 
center, gazed about him with wondering eyes. 

“ Here’s the headquarters,” he mused, gazing at 
the fireplace on the side, and the skylight overhead, 
through which no light now came because of the 
deep accumulation of sand on the upper side. 

Opposite the fireplace was an ancient carved table, 
of a pattern such as Val had never seen before ex- 
cept in pictures, and upon it were strewn some pieces 
of wearing apparel, mildewed and moldy; gar- 
ments cut in a style of long ago. But these were 
frayed and tattered — evidently cast away as use- 
less by their original owner. 

Inspection showed this cavern to be dug out of 
the sand, for it was timbered and planked on the 
sides and overhead ; but the rough timbers were con- 
cealed — or had once been — by drapings of tap- 
estry that hung in rotten rags from their fastenings, 
their once bright pattern now faded, and adding 
only to the dismalness of the place. 

Lost in wonder, the young skipper inspected all 
these things — the ax, red with rust, that lay by the 
fireplace; the flint and steel, and tinder-box lying by 
a 'pile of wood on the hearth. 

Everything spoke plainly of years of disuse ; every- 
thing conjured up pirates bold, such as he had read 
of time and again, and their rakish-looking ships 
laden with treasure. And so powerfully did these 
surroundings act upon his mind, wrought up by the 
unexpectedness of his discovery, that when he espied 


VAL’S COMMISSARY DEPARTMENT 191 


a box under the table, he rushed for it as though it 
might contain a fortune. 

But it was too surprisingly light, though of metal, 
to contain much of a fortune, except in bank-notes 
— which Val was dimly aware were not in vogue 
when pirates were; and, opened after some effort, 
contained nothing except a roll of cloth. 

But what a roll! Val drew it out, and as it un- 
rolled from his hand, firm and untouched by mildew 
from its enclosure in the box, he beheld a black flag, 
made of fine silk, on which were embroidered in 
white a grinning death’s head and cross bones. 

“What a souvenir of this trip!” was VaPs first 
ejaculation; and that brought to mind the nature of 
this trip, and the fact that his hunger was on the 
increase. His inspection came to a sudden termi- 
nation. “For,” he thought, “I can poke around 
here any time, but I want something to eat now” 

He put the flag back in the box, and left the room 
by the passage, which led out at the opposite side 
from which it entered the cave. Nor had he gone 
more than a dozen yards when the passage divided 
into two, and sent a branch off to the right. Disre- 
garding this and following what appeared to be the 
main tunnel, a few steps brought him to familiar 
ground. Here were his footprints in the sand; here 
the ladder against the wall; overhead the trap-door 
through which he had fallen. The passage now 
pitched steeply downward, and at the end of a 
hundred feet brought up against a wooden wall, 


192 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


or barricade, which completely closed the way. 
This was composed of a doorway of heavy planks, 
made to swing inward, fitted to a casing in the 
rock, and secured by a stout iron bar placed from 
side to side. To remove the bar was the work 
of a moment, and after vigorous tugging, the 
door consented to open, its rusty hinges creaking 
dolefully. 

Val emerged, not upon the beach, as he expected, 
but into a low, rocky, sea-lit cave, some twenty 
feet in length. Over the sandy floor of this cavern, 
clear to the casing of the door, the harbor water 
was rippling in, while the roof shelved down as it 
approached the outside entrance till the exit was 
scarcely three feet in height above the surface of the 
water. Stripping off shoes and stockings, with 
rolled-up trousers Val started to wade to the en- 
trance. The water, however, deepened more rap- 
idly than he expected, and he found he would be 
obliged to swim by the time the opening was 
reached, unless he edged along a narrow ledge which 
followed one wall, perhaps a foot under water. This 
he did, and presently had the satisfaction of emerg- 
ing from the cavern, where, still clinging to the rock, 
he looked about with considerable curiosity. 

Behind him rose the rocky bluff forming the head 
of the crescent-shaped bay, twenty feet or more in 
height. Before him lay the bay, though he could 
not see it all, since its entrance was hidden by the 
wooded promontory to the left, while at the right 


VAI/S COMMISSARY DEPARTMENT 193 


the finger-like strip of land shut off a view of open 
sea and the steam-yacht. The beach ended some 
hundred yards to his right, and it was evident that 
even at low tide the cave would not be wholly free of 
water, neither would it be easily approachable, except 
by boat. 

The boat was not on the beach; but in its place 
was a life-raft, such as is often seen on steamers, 
formed of two hollow metal cylinders placed side 
by side, with a wooden platform between. Val 
knew at a glance that Bangs had come ashore on 
this. 

With considerable caution he climbed up the 
ledges to the summit of the bluff, and crouched in 
the bushes while he surveyed the “Sea Rover.” 

No one was visible about her decks, but he did 
not look long at her, for suddenly a rowboat, con- 
taining two men, shot into sight around the headland 
from the harbor mouth, and came toward the beach. 

Val wormed his way through the bushes to a point 
immediately above the beach, though sufficiently far 
from the path to be invisible to any chance passer, 
and waited for the boat. It came rapidly nearer, 
and was very evidently the “Sea Rover’s” tender. 
It sat low in the water, as though heavily loaded, and 
Val could see boxes and packages in her bow. The 
figure in the stern proved to be Bruce; the oarsman 
was the deck hand. 

The tide being high, the beach was but a narrow 
Strip, so that when the boat grounded she was well 


194 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


under the bluff, and scarcely thirty feet from Val’s 
hiding-place. 

Every spare inch of space in the boat was taken 
up with bags, boxes, and cans. Bangs was evi- 
dently getting provisions ashore, for the boxes bore 
such brands as “ Canned Baked Beans,” “ Columbia 
River. Salmon,” “Star Brand Soups,” “Fancy 
Biscuit,” et cetera, while a ham or two on top of 
the pile fairly made the young skipper’s mouth 
water. 

As the tender grounded, the deck hand laid down 
the oars with an exclamation of relief, and both men 
jumped out. They then began unloading the boat’s 
cargo, placing each piece as far from the water as 
was possible without climbing the bluff, until a very 
respectable pile of edibles grew up almost under 
Vai’s nose. 

“How long do we stop in this forsaken hole?” 
demanded Fenderson, presently, as he tugged away 
at the boxes, “and what job is the boss putting up 
here, anyhow?” 

Bruce shrugged his shoulders expressively. 

“We’ll stay as long as you want to, don’t you 
worry,” he replied. 

“ But are you going to leave this stuff here ? ” 
persisted the deck hand. 

“Of course. What’s to harm it?” 

“Brandon might snatch it.” 

‘You told me that Bangs had got him safe,” 
rejoined Bruce. 


VAL’S COMMISSARY DEPARTMENT 195 


“So he had. When I left just before daylight 
they had him solid. He kindly climbed a tree to get 
out of their way, and now he’ll either climb down 
or else get blown higher.” Fenderson laughed at 
what he seemed to consider a great witticism. 

“No danger of his escaping them,” rejoined 
Bruce. “Besides, Mike will be down after the 
stuff soon.” 

“And a sweet time may he have of it, lugging 
those boxes through the bushes — excuse me” 
grimaced the deck hand. “But when does the 
other fellow come ashore? ” 

“Sometime to-day, probably. But don’t stand 
there all day chinning. There’s more stuff to get 
ashore, wood to cut for the engines, oceans of work 
to do. Get a move on.” 

“Confounded shame we can’t steam right in and 
save all this rowing,” grumbled Fenderson as the 
boat shoved off, the cargo being unloaded. 

They moved leisurely away down the harbor, 
leaving Val Brandon inspired with a new idea — the 
capture of the lately landed provisions! 

Under the circumstances he considered himself 
justified in confiscating them; and, in fact, the more 
he thought of the matter, impatiently waiting for 
the men to leave, there seemed a chance for him to 
seriously embarrass Bangs, and possibly bring him 
to terms, by depriving him of his food supply. 

Both this thought, and the fact that he was him- 
self half famished, led him to act quickly. His plan 


196 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


was to transfer the boxes and bags to the under- 
ground passage before the men returned with a 
second load. There were the provisions, and there 
was the raft, and no sooner had the boat disappeared 
behind the headland than Val was scrambling to the 
beach. Hurriedly he loaded boxes and other 
packages upon the life-raft, and working it along 
with the pair of oars with which it was provided, 
maneuvered it into the cave and landed his cargo in 
the mouth of the tunnel. It took two trips to com- 
plete the transfer, after which he returned the raft 
to its original position, to disarm suspicion ; and with 
such celerity was the whole thing accomplished, that 
within twenty minutes after he began loading the 
raft, he was seated on a box in the mouth of the 
tunnel, ravenously devouring crackers, cheese, and 
slices of ham which he hacked off with his jack- 
knife. 

“Take the goods the gods provide, and be thank- 
ful and ask no questions,” he exclaimed in a'' satis- 
fied tone, gazing about on his new acquisitions, while 
the empty feeling in his stomach rapidly disappeared. 
“ I scored one on Bangs this time,” and Val chuckled 
as he pictured the rascal’s rage at the loss of his 
supplies. 

“And I very much doubt if he can conceive where 
they have gone, though he will know who took 
them.” Brandon’s hiding-place was certainly a 
capital one, and if, as he had reason to suspect, it 
was unknown to Bangs’ gang, he failed to see why 


VAL’S COMMISSARY DEPARTMENT 197 


his whereabouts should not continue to be a huge 
mystery to his enemies. 

His hunger being appeased by a liberal allowance 
of the provisions most easily come at, and the boat 
not yet being in sight down the harbor, Val proceeded 
to take an inventory of his capture. 

There were two cases of tinned soups, a case of 
canned corned beef, and one of beef smoked, 
canned baked beans, salmon, sugar corn, bloaters, 
plain and fancy biscuit, three hams, and half a cheese. 

“I hope Providence will kindly provide me with 
a can opener on her next visit/’ said Val, when the 
inspection was completed. “It will be handy with 
the canned goods. I also want her to furnish an 
oil stove, some kerosene to run it, a skillet, and a 
few other dishes. Then I’ll undertake to board 
myself for a short time, Bangs or no Bangs.” 

Now that he had established a commissary depart- 
ment, and appeased his hunger, Val was in a very 
cheerful frame of mind, as well he might be. Being 
just hopeful enough to believe that Bruce and the 
deck hand, missing their first load, would ascribe its 
absence to the energetic work of Mike Mecorrigan, 
he waited impatiently for the tender to appear with 
a second load, which he intended to capture as he 
had the first. He peeped out every minute to rec- 
onnoiter, until the boat appeared around the head- 
land. 

“Everything’s fish that comes to my net,” was his 
gleeful assertion. “Now if they will only credit 


198 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


Mike with having made an awful hustle and rushed 
those boxes right up to the house, I stand a show of 
another haul. 

“ Major, Major, stay away, please,” and he waved 
a hand warningly in the supposed direction of Bangs 
and the Irishman, for their appearance on the scene 
would spoil all his plans. 

From the entrance of the cave, without exposing 
himself Val obtained a view of the harbor and the 
beach where the previous landing had been made. 
He waited in considerable anxiety while the tender 
came leisurely up, and grounded in the old place. 

The distance was too great to hear ordinary con- 
versation, owing to the lap-lap of the ripples, but he 
heard an ejaculation from Fenderson as he jumped 
ashore. 

“ Great Jehosaphat! do you s’pose that Irishman 
has been blamed fool enough to lug all that stuff 
away in this little time?” 

And there followed a short conversation in lower 
tones, a general inspection of the beach in both direc- 
tions, so far as they could inspect it without walking, 
and much gazing up the bluff. 

“Well, I’m jiggered!” finally ejaculated the deck 
hand, in a loud tone, “but it must be so; there ain’t 
no other way. Who ever s’posed Mike was such 
a hustler?” 

The unloading then began, and as box after box 
was put ashore, Val fairly hugged himself at the 
success of his plans. 


VAL’S COMMISSARY DEPARTMENT 199 


Five minutes sufficed to make the transfer, and 
the boat again shoved off, and started back to the 
yacht. Val, however, did not move until it was out 
of sight, and it was well he did not, for Bruce and 
Fenderson occasionally eyed the shore intently, as 
though suspicion had found a lodging in their minds, 
and they wished to have it dispelled by the sight of 
Mike actually at work. 

The moment the boat vanished Val was out of 
the cave. He worked with all possible celerity, for 
there was now every danger of being surprised by 
Mike or the Major ; and indeed he did not doubt 
that it was only his supposed presence somewhere 
in the house that kept them away. 

He wasted no time, though he could have given 
a moment to dancing a jig when he had the satisfac- 
tion of putting a small oil stove and a large can of 
kerosene aboard the raft. There was a box, also, 
that gave forth a rattle as of tin dishes. 

“That must be the skillet and the can opener,” 
exclaimed the young skipper, exultantly. Twenty 
minutes saw the second boat load placed under cover. 
There was nothing left but to replace the raft on the 
beach, and he had nearly completed doing so, when 
a noise on shore thrilled him with alarm. 

Glancing up at the bank, he beheld the Major 
just arriving at the edge of the bluff, and behind him 
Mike. 

Val began rowing away from shore for dear life. A 
moment later the Major caught sight of the young 


200 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


skipper, and a smile of actual relief and enjoyment 
passed over his face. He did not yet know that his 
provisions were missing. 

“Ho, Brandon!” he shouted, raising his voice, 
though there was little need, since the raft was not 
more than fifty feet away. As Val continued row- 
ing, and made no reply, the Major scrambled down 
the bank, accompanied by Mike, and walked to the 
water’s edge, where he drew his revolver and threat- 
eningly ordered Val to stop rowing. 

Not caring to risk his life in so foolhardy a manner, 
Brandon complied, and faced about. 

“Well, what do you want now?” he asked. 

The Major gave vent to a roar of laughter. Val 
was in a box, and he thought he could afford to play 
with him a little. 

“You can’t imagine how glad I am to see you 
again, my dear fellow,” he said with great suavity. 
“I began to think you had gone forever, but a kind 
Providence has seen fit to restore you to us.” 

“I can assure you the pleasure is all yours,” 
retorted Val, grimly. 

“Don’t say that,” said the Major, deprecatingly. 
“You are a necessity of our existence. We don’t 
seem to be able to live without you; yet you spurn 
all our advances.” 

“Now talk sense, Bangs,” said Val, in a tone of 
vexation that seemed to give the Major great satis- 
faction. “What do you want, anyhow?” 

“For one thing, I would like to know how you 


VAL’S COMMISSARY DEPARTMENT 201 


flew out of the top of that tower without our seeing 
you.” 

“ Easily enough,” said Val, nonchalantly, for he 
had suddenly conceived a plan of escape, and did 
not mind parleying with Bangs so long as it did not 
give the mate a chance to take him in the rear — 
which he did not doubt the Major figured upon, 
should he himself fail to force the yachtsman ashore. 

“Oh, no doubt of it. Great mysteries are often 
simple when explained; but now you have returned 
to us, we will let bygones be bygones.” 

“I have not returned,” said Val, with spirit, “and 
don’t intend to.” 

“Very forcefully put; but I propose to make you.” 

“We’ll see about that,” declared Brandon. 

But Bangs’ temper had changed. He was in no 
mood for trifling. His tones rang out sharply. 

“Brandon, come ashore, or I’ll fire!” 

But Val was too quick for his enemy. Before 
Bangs could take aim the young skipper dropped 
into the water on the side of the raft farthest from 
the beach. With both hands clasped on one of the 
metal cylinders, and with the barest trifle of his face 
showing above water, and that not visible to Bangs, 
he struck out energetically with his feet to propel 
himself out of range. Slowly but certainly the cum- 
bersome raft moved away from the shore, while the 
Major fired shot after shot at it. Val, knowing he 
was amply protected, chuckled as he swam. 


CHAPTER XXII 


* 


A CHASE AND THE RESULT 

Major Bangs soon saw that he was merely wast- 
ing ammunition by firing at the raft, and he desisted. 
He showed no inclination, however, to enter the water 
and swim after Val, nor did he ask Mike to do so. 
His last card was still to be played, for, as Val sus- 
pected, he was depending on Bruce and Fenderson 
to capture the young yachtsman in case his own 
attempt was unsuccessful. 

His efforts had plainly failed, for Val, swimming 
easily on his back, with the raft between himself and 
the beach, was slowly but surely increasing the dis- 
tance between himself and his would-be captor. 

He proposed to make use of the raft only till he 
was out of pistol-shot, and then to abandon it and 
strike ^out for the headland across the bay. This 
was possibly an eighth of a mile distant, and he 
believed he could reach it and lose himself in the 
woods before Mike or the Major could possibly 
traverse the upper end of the bay, with its rocks and 
tangled underbrush, and reach the same ground. 

Had Bangs imagined he was to find Val at the 
harbor, he would undoubtedly have adopted differ- 
ent tactics; but the meeting had been much more 
202 


A CHASE AND THE RESULT 203 


of a surprise to him than it had to Brandon. With- 
out attempting to force a passage along the shore — 
and indeed for the present it was uncertain from 
VaPs movements just where he intended to go — 
Bangs began shouting at the top of his voice. 

“Ho, Bruce — Bruce! ” he bellowed. “Come 
ashore.” 

For several minutes he kept up an incessant hal- 
looing, assisted by Mike’s lusty lungs, and paced 
nervously to and fro, eyeing first the raft and then as 
much as he could see of the lower end of the harbor 
and the “Sea Rover.” 

By this time Val had reached what he considered 
a safe distance, and, leaving the raft, struck out alone. 
Several minutes passed, during which he swam 
steadily and strongly toward the headland. Then 
Bangs caught sight of the tender entering the harbor, 
and redoubled his shouts, supplementing them by 
numerous gesticulations, meant to call attention to 
the captain of the “Spitfire.” These had their 
intended effect, for the boat changed its course, and 
with accelerated movement bore down toward Val, 
or, rather, toward a point between him and the 
shore, to intercept him. 

“Hurry, you lubbers, hurry,” raged Bangs, as he 
excitedly mopped his red face. “Catch him at any 
cost.” 

The two in the boat may or may not have caught 
the words, but Bangs’ meaning was unmistakable. 
They understood the work that was cut out for them, 


204 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


and surged through the water at a pace much faster 
than Val’s, although, since the tender was loaded 
with stuff for the house, and consequently low in 
the water, they rowed at considerable disadvantage. 

But Val was a good swimmer, and encumbered 
only by shirt and trousers, made rapid headway. 
The tide, which had been at flood, had already be- 
gun to turn, and this aided him, while it retarded 
the tender. And so it fell out that in spite of the 
Major’s exhortations, and the utmost exertions of 
the deck hand at the oars, Val reached the 
shore some distance ahead of the boat. With 
muscles and nerves stimulated to unnatural effort by 
the excitement of the moment, he climbed the high 
bank and vanished in the dense woods, untouched 
by a shot or two that Bruce sent after him. 

The tender grounded presently, and the occupants 
leaped out. Chagrined by their failure to overtake 
the swimmer before he reached shore, they clam- 
bered up the bluff in hot pursuit. The Major, also, 
when he saw the outcome of the brief chase, at once 
made his way, accompanied by Mike, around the 
head of the bay. The shore was a tangle of bushes 
and underbrush, and high and jagged rocks, and 
the headland was separated from the rest of the 
island by a swampy ravine. So the Major and his 
Irish ally found the traveling anything but easy, and 
finally reached Val’s retreat, muddy from their pas- 
sage through the swamp, and dripping with perspira- 
tion. 


A CHASE AND THE RESULT 205 


The promontory might perhaps have covered a 
couple of acres, and every portion of it was wooded. 
Vines and briers ran riot amid the tree trunks, and 
to get about was no very easy task, to say nothing 
of hunting for a fugitive. If Val had looked for a 
month he could not have discovered a better place 
for concealment. 

Nothing could be seen of Bruce and Fenderson, 
though some one was crashing about not far away, 
and the late comers plunged along in the direction 
of the noise. 

“Keep a sharp lookout,” Bangs admonished. 
“We must not let the scamp escape us this time.” 

“Be jabers, an’ Oi think Oi know what Oi’m 
a-doin’, ” was the breathless response. “Do ye think 
Oi’m out for a pleashure thrip? Let me at ’im. 
Oi’ll corrk him up so he’ll bother us no more.” 

Two acres of ground do not make a large area, 
but to Bangs and his confederates that densely 
wooded promontory seemed to extend miles in every 
direction. To and fro, hither and thither, they went 
in anxious search; but when they had covered the 
whole ground, and met finally on the bluff overlook- 
ing the harbor, not a glimpse had any of them caught 
of the young skipper since the moment he disappeared. 

We will not repeat the utterances of all four when 
they realized their hunt had been unsuccessful. 
There was violent upbraiding of Bruce by the 
Major, which the former heartily resented. Even 
Mike came in for a portion of the vials of Bangs’ 


206 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


wrath, being held responsible for Val’s escape from 
the tree in the first place. 

So, in an extremely uncomfortable state of mind 
all around, they returned to the spot where the boat 
had been left, and climbed down the bank — to 
find her gone! 

Bangs was first to reach the shore, for, having 
vented his wrath on the others, he strode along 
ahead. His idea of the landing-place was but a 
general one; yet, not seeing the boat where he 
expected, he called to Bruce: — 

“Where’s the boat?” 

“ Right under your nose,” that person responded 
in a most sour voice. Then he, too, saw that the 
tender was gone, and his tone changed to one of 
amazement. 

“Well, IT1 be blowed! Where is that boat?” 

“Didn’t you tie her up?” 

“No, for I was first to land, and struck right into 
the woods.” 

“Fenderson,” called the Major, excitedly, as the 
person addressed came into sight behind the mate. 
“Did you hitch the boat?” 

“No, I pulled her up, and rushed up the bank 
after Brandon. Has she drifted off?” 

“Well, you’re as big a fool as they make ’em,” 
wrathfully exclaimed the leader of the expedition. 
“Don’t you know enough yet to hitch a boat?” 

The four were now at the water’s edge. 

“You look here, Bangs,” exclaimed the deck hand, 


A CHASE AND THE RESULT 207 


hotly. “You’ve carried this thing far enough. 
Call me a fool again and I’ll punch your head. 
I’ve had enough of it. You can keep a civil tongue 
when you speak to me or I throw up the job, see?” 

Bangs realized that his unreasoning temper had 
gotten the best of him. He changed his tones, but 
they were none the less anxious. 

“Let it pass, Fenderson,” he said, in an attempt 
at conciliation. “The actions of that confounded 
cub have completely upset me. Now our boat is 
gone, and only the old Nick knows what will happen 
next.” 

“Here’s where we came ashore,” said Bruce, 
carefully examining the sand. He pointed out the 
marks left by the bow of the tender. 

“Do you find any tracks of bare feet?” asked 
Bangs, eagerly scanning the strand. “Brandon was 
barefooted.” The shore here was but a narrow strip 
as at other points on the harbor, and the tide had 
already receded somewhat. There were, however, 
no footprints save those made by members of their 
own party. 

“She was not hauled up far enough, and the tide 
drifted her off,” Bangs decided shortly. He held 
his temper under, however, and made no remarks 
that might hurt the deck hand’s feelings. He knew 
too well the results of an insurrection in his own 
party. 

“When you and Fenderson got out, you probably 
gave her a backward push in jumping ashore,” he 


208 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


continued, addressing the mate. “In your excite- 
ment you forgot all about the boat, and that’s the 
whole of it. 

“Now we must keep along the shore around 
the head, and see if we can’t find her,” he 
directed. “She will be drifting toward the mouth 
of the harbor. We can’t afford to lose the only 
boat we’ve got.” 

“True,” corroborated the mate, as the party 
started along the beach in the direction proposed by 
Bangs, “and she’s loaded with a lot of truck we don’t 
want to part with.” 

As intimated, there was no sign of the boat in the 
upper harbor. To gain a view of the lower bay and 
the entrance, it was necessary to follow the convex 
curve of the promontory shore around a point a short 
distance away, which, despite their weariness, they 
did with considerable alacrity. 

The turn reached, their eyes became fixed on an 
object leisurely drifting seaward some hundreds of 
feet distant, and equidistant from both sides of the 
bay. It was the tender. 

“There she is,” was Bangs’ relieved exclamation, 
“though we’ll have to swim for her. However, 
we’ll walk to the mouth of the bay, and catch her 
where it’s narrower.” 

“Unless I’m greatly mistaken, we won’t catch her 
there, if we do at all,” suddenly declared the deck 
hand, as he stripped off his coat and hurried into 
the water. “Look across. Do you see any one?” 


A CHASE AND THE RESULT 209 


Looking in the direction indicated, his companions 
saw Val Brandon in the act of plunging in to swim 
out to the boat. The sight set the Major’s nerves 
a-tingle. 

“Swim for it, Fenderson, swim for it,” he urged. 
And the deck hand swam as best he could, hand over 
hand, though in his haste he had neglected to throw 
off his shoes, and was greatly hampered by them. 

“By the great horn spoon!” said the mate, in an 
agitated voice. “If Brandon gets there first, he’ll 
have things all his own way. 

“I tell you, Bangs,” he continued, turning to the 
much perturbed man at his side, “for downright, 
unadulterated excitement your island racket takes 
the palm.” 

“What’s in the tender?” Bangs asked, shuffling 
about like an excited boy. 

“There’s a rifle, and two shotguns, most of our 
ammunition, and a few other things. Oh, he won’t 
be able to do a thing to us when he gets hold of them. 

“Yes, hurry him up,” he added, for the Major 
had begun to shout encouragement to the deck 
hand, who had covered half the distance. 

But Val’s head was bobbing steadily along from 
the other direction, and being unhampered by shoes, 
he appeared to have a decided advantage over Fen- 
derson in point of speed. 

When he hurried into the woods on the headland, 
he knew his action would draw, not only the occu- 
pants of the boat, but probably Bangs and Mike as 


210 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


well, to that vicinity. With a fair start of his pur- 
suers, he crossed the woods — despite his bare feet, 
which came in for a severe bruising — a thing he 
believed his enemies would not expect him to do, as 
most certainly they did not; and, reaching the water 
at the entrance to the harbor, he swam across the 
narrow passage to the opposite shore. 

He was now at the extremity of the finger-like 
promontory that formed the northwest shore of the 
bay, which, while undoubtedly underlaid by ledges, 
since it withstood the beating of the wind and waves, 
seemed but a strip of sand, covered here and there 
with clumps of beach grass and heaps of driftwood. 
Thoroughly exhausted with his exertions, and feel- 
ing safe for the present, Val lay down in a patch of 
grass, and rested. 

Across the channel, even above the noise of the 
surf on the outer shore — for a westerly wind was 
rising, and kicking up a swell — he could hear occa- 
sional shouts, and he chuckled grimly at thought of 
the Major and his companions beating the woods 
for him. 

“And now,” he meditated, turning to take a look 
at the yacht, “if I only had a boat I’d row out to the 
‘Sea Rover’ and call on Cal.” 

His curiosity was excited by a column of smoke 
rising from the yacht’s stack, and a half-formed 
plan of swimming out was instantly dismissed as 
impracticable. The engineer had evidently recov- 
ered his usefulness. 


A CHASE AND THE RESULT 211 


After a thorough rest, Val presently crept down to 
the bay shore, to see what his pursuers were doing. 
No sooner had he sighted the water, than he saw the 
tender drifting down the bay. 

“ Jinks!” he exclaimed in delight, “they didn’t 
hitch the boat, and she’s drifted off. What’s to 
hinder my capturing her ? ” 

He could see no reason why he should not seize 
the boat — an act which would give him an advan- 
tage over his enemies. But they were not in sight, 
and the boat was still some distance off. It would 
be well to let the tide bring her nearer; so he sat 
down and kept a sharp watch. 

Perhaps five minutes had passed when Bangs, 
Bruce, Mike, and the deck hand came into view on 
the opposite shore. Val arose at once and plunged 
into the water. Not doubting that some one of the 
other party would do the same thing, he proposed 
to have a start. He had the ebbing tide to contend 
against, which was one thing in favor of the deck 
hand; yet the current that hindered Brandon was 
at the same time drifting the boat nearer to him and 
away from Fenderson. 

“Be the bloody blazes!” Mike exclaimed, as he 
climbed the bank for a better view of the race. 
“The spalpeen’s gainin’, he’s gainin’ on ’im.” 

“Talk English, can’t you? ” cried Bangs. “Who’s 
ahead? I can’t see Brandon now.” 

A moment later the young skipper reached the 
boat, and pulled himself up into sight. 


> 


212 ON TOWER ISLAND 

“Look,” said Mike, despondently. “Do ye see 
him now? ” . 

Thereupon the Major swore roundly. 

“Betther shtop yez cussin’ an’ git out yez common 
sinse,” wisely counseled the Irishman. “The bye’s 
on top the hape.” 

“You talk as though you were glad of it,” indig- 
nantly retorted the Major. 

“Begorra, an’ it takes the load off me moind to 
have matthers sittled any way at all, so it does.” 

“I reckon we’re pretty close to being settled,” 
exclaimed the mate. “What did I tell you?” 

Val had taken possession of the boat and its con- 
tents. The firearms were in plain sight, and he at 
once picked up the rifle. It was a repeater, with a 
shell in place and a full magazine. 

Fenderson was still approaching. 

“Go back,” warned Val. And the deck hand, 
seeing no other way, turned and swam back to shore. 

“If it kills us all, we’ve got to keep that boy on 
this island,” announced Bangs, forcefully, as he 
witnessed the outcome of the swimming contest. 

“Bruce, go down to the mouth of the bay, and if 
Brandon tries to row out, don’t let him pass alive. 
Your revolver will cover the passage. The rest of 
us will see what we can do elsewhere.” 



-(7 








■ sT 

■ 4 *&- 


“‘GO BACK,’ WARNED VAL.” 








. 


















- 











I 











- 








• * 






























































CHAPTER XXIII 


FORCING THE ISSUE 

By this time the sun was pretty hot, and Val 
Brandon was tired after his swimming match; so 
he let the boat drift while he recovered his breath 
and inspected the cargo. 

There was bedding — blankets and pillows taken 
from the “Sea Rover’s ” bunks. There were the 
firearms mentioned by Bruce, and plenty of ammuni- 
tion; and, as he examined this, Val felt that if ever he 
gained any control over affairs on the island, it would 
be through this small arsenal. 

“Any eatables, I wonder?” he mused, feeling 
about under the blankets. His search brought to 
light a tub of butter, a case of eggs, several fishing 
lines, boxes of cigars, matches, a hammer, and other 
sundries. There was also a parcel containing novels; 
recent editions with uncut leaves. Bangs had not 
proposed to spend his island vacation without mental 
recreation. 

“I gather them in, yes, one by one,” soliloquized 
Val, gleefully, wondering how the Major would feel 
when he found his choice cigars were beyond his 
reach. 

The inspection finished, Val gave his attention 

213 


214 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


to the movements of Bangs and his confederates. 
The Major and his two companions had disappeared 
in the underbrush; Bruce had reached the harbor 
mouth, and taken a position on the shore. His 
purpose was not hard to guess, and as the tide was 
steadily carrying the boat nearer and nearer, Val 
seized the oars and rowed farther up the harbor. 

He was still rowing when a loud halloo came from 
the head of the bay, and turning, Val saw Bangs, 
Mike, and Fenderson on the beach where the provi- 
sions had been landed. The Major was waving a 
white cloth aloft, and beckoning. 

“That must be intended for a flag of truce,” was 
Val’s conclusion. “The old rascal wants to know 
where his provisions are, I’ll bet a cent. Let him 
sweat awhile; I’ve perspired considerably on his 
account to-day.” 

He ceased rowing and lay lazily back on the 
blankets, watching Bangs wave the white cloth, 
and listening unmoved to his loud invitations to 
row up nearer. 

Finding that Val did not respond in the slightest 
to his invitations, the Major presently came along 
the beach until he was directly abreast the tender, 
and only a matter of a few hundred feet distant. 
The Irishman and the deck hand followed, but not 
so hurriedly. They might have been tired of man- 
hunting on so warm a day. 

“Come over here,” called Bangs, still waving the 
cloth, — a handkerchief. “I won’t touch you.” 


FORCING THE ISSUE 


215 


“What do you want?” asked Val, after pondering 
upon the advisability of rowing nearer shore. 

“I want to talk with you.” 

“We have talked enough already,” was Val’s 
response. “I’m going to stop talking, and do some- 
thing.” 

“Come over,” coaxed the Major. “Perhaps we 
can make a bargain.” 

“I’ll not trust you,” said Val, shortly, though 
his curiosity was aroused as to what Bangs might 
have to say regarding the disappearance of the 
provisions. He certainly must have been informed of 
their disappearance by this time, and had probably 
waxed wrathy over the fact. 

“You needn’t come ashore,” went on the Major. 
“Row near enough so we won’t have to shout.” 

“/ don’t have to shout,” responded Val, serenely. 
He was not soliciting the interview. However, he 
sculled the boat a little nearer shore, and with the 
rifle in plain view over his knee, sat down and waited 
for the Major to open the conversation. 

“What do you intend to do?” Bangs demanded, 
coming at once to the point. 

“You’ll see when the time comes,” replied Val, 
evasively. He kept a sharp lookout on all three as 
he talked, for he did not propose to have any one 
getting the drop on him. The rifle would carry 
much farther than any firearm the Major or his men 
possessed, and this knowledge made him feel he 
held the advantage so long as he did not get too near 


216 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


shore. But it would not do to be careless; the Major 
only waited to take him at a disadvantage. 

“I’ll tell you now that you are about at the end of 
your rope,” blustered the Major. “What have you 
done with our provisions?” he went on. “You 
will rue it if you don’t give them up. Where are 
they?” 

“That’s for me to know, and for you to find 
out — if you can,” Val retorted, teasingly. There 
was no use trying to conceal the fact he had taken 
them. 

The Major shuffled about excitedly for a moment. 
Then, with an attempt at self-control, said : — 

“We want that boat.” 

“I suppose you do.” 

“Yes, and we are going to have it.” 

“You really surprise me,” exclaimed Val, sarcas- 
tically. 

“If you don’t come ashore, give up the boat and 
the provisions, and submit to us, we’ll snake you out 
of the water inside of an hour, mark my words. We 
are desperate men; we won’t trifle with you a moment 
longer. You have interfered with our plans at every 
turn. If you don’t come to terms we’ll have no 
compunctions about shooting you. Once more I 
ask you, will you come to terms?” 

“No. I’ll wait till it comes on to blow” rejoined 
the young skipper, in a jocular tone. “Go on, 
Major. Let her go! Whoop her up! I’m really 
anxious to see what you propose doing.” 









FORCING THE ISSUE 


217 


Val felt as though he was ready for almost any- 
thing now, and did not hesitate to chaff the burly 
rascal to the top of his bent. But he hardly ex- 
pected what followed. Bangs, exasperated by the 
coolness of the young fellow in the boat, made a 
sudden reach for his revolver; but he was too 
slow. 

Val was several seconds ahead of him in raising 
his rifle and covering his enemy. 

“Drop it! Drop it, I say!” 

With an execration Bangs threw the pistol on the 
sand. He had not looked for this. 

“Now, up with your hands,” commanded Val, 
sternly. “Up; up higher. Put them up, I say. 
There, that’ll do very well.” 

Bangs had his arms stretched up to their farthest 
extent. Upon this unexpected scene Mike and the 
deck hand gazed in astonishment, not unmixed with 
fear. It was apparent they were unarmed, for they 
made no offer to assist their chief. 

“Now, Major, talk up. I want to ask you some 
questions,” asseverated Brandon, with provoking 
assurance, “and I shall expect you to answer them.” 

The Major uttered an exclamation that sweepingly 
consigned Val and his questions to a warmer climate ; 
and with a side glance at his companions, beckoned 
them to approach. 

“That’s right,” commented Val. “Come along 
up’, you two. I’ve just appointed myself Disclosure 
Commissioner for Tower Island. The Major will 


218 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


now reveal some interesting things; come up and 
hear them. It will be safer, too, to have you in 
range.” 

Thus admonished, and with as much curiosity 
regarding the outcome of this novel situation as 
surprise at its occurrence, they stepped to the side 
of their chief. 

“Put up your hands,” ordered Val. 

“Shure, an’ we’ve no shootin’ oirons,” protested 
Mike, well knowing it would be no fun to hold his 
hands up for an indefinite period. 

“That makes no difference,” replied Val. “Put 
them up; up higher, both of you. There,” he went 
on, as the three men stood with arms aloft, and 
gazed uneasily at the muzzle of the rifle, “aren’t you 
a nice lot of birds? ’Twould do me good to blow 
the lot of you right off the beach. 

“Now, Major, tell me how long did you propose 
to stay on this island?” asked Val. 

“None of your business.” 

“Major, how long did you propose to stay on this 
island?” repeated Brandon. “If you don’t answer 
in three seconds I shall shoot. One — two — three.” 
Bang! 

Val pulled the trigger, and the rifle spoke. He 
purposely fired over the heads of the trio, but they 
did not know that fact. Mike fell down in fright; 
the Major and Fenderson dodged. Val threw out 
the empty shell and shifted a loaded one into posi- 
tion before they recovered from their consternation. 


FORCING THE ISSUE 


219 


Evidently Bangs had not believed Val would shoot, 
or he might have shown more discretion and less 
temper. 

“ Stand up,” commanded the young skipper, with 
an ironical laugh. “ Hands up again; up — up 
higher. There; now aren’t you a Brave lot?” 

Bangs scowled sourly, Mike looked frightened, 
while the deck hand smiled in a sickly manner; but 
every one did as he was bid. 

“ Major, how long did you propose to stay on this 
island?” asked Val for the third time. 

“A month, or longer, perhaps,” said Bangs, with 
great reluctance, speaking as though the words were 
pulled out by main force. He was greatly exasper- 
ated at the situation in which he found himself, 
though he could not bring himself to believe it would 
last long. 

“What do you mean by ‘or longer perhaps’?” 
demanded his interrogator, relentlessly. 

“That I don’t know.” 

“Right,” agreed Val, cheerfully. 11 You don’t 
know; but I do.” 

“I suppose so,” sneered Bangs. “One would 
almost think you knew everything, and were doing 
everything, just now. My turn will come.” 

“We’ll not cross that bridge till we reach it. I 
say you are going to leave this island to-day,” 
declared the young skipper, boldly. 

The Major gave a contemptuous sniff, though his 
feet shifted nervously. There was no knowing 


220 


ON TOWER ISLAND * 


what this young tartar of a yachtsman might take 
it into his head to attempt; the very thought made 
him feel uncomfortable. 

No such thoughts perplexed Mike. 

“ Listen to the chake of ’im,” he exclaimed in 
amazement. 

“Keep quiet, Mike,” commanded Val, abruptly. 
“Put your hands up higher — higher yet.” 

“Begobs, an’ me hands are a-pullin’ me arrums 
off alridy,” the Irishman grumbled, yet obeying 
perforce, for he liked the looks of the rifle muzzle 
even less than the others. 

“Where is my chum, Carroll Morse?” calmly 
proceeded Val. “Is he on shore or aboard the 
yacht?” 

“On the ‘Sea Rover,’” growled Bangs, looking 
in the direction of the steamer. 

“Face toward me,” Val commanded sternly, 
without glancing around. 

Bangs leisurely obeyed, but a curious smile 
flickered over his face as he did so. 

“And now,” went on the young skipper, deter- 
minedly, “I want you to tell me where you think my 
yacht is, and what in your opinion has become of 
my other chum, Parker.” 

“I don’t know where your yacht is,” said Bangs. 
“I’d give more to know,” he continued with some 
energy, “than you would.” 

“You said she would be left safe at Pod Island, 
but that was a lie, for I saw her drive past the yacht 


FORCING THE ISSUE 


221 


when we were waiting, and the squall struck. Why 
did she leave her anchorage ?” 

“We sent a man to bring Parker to the yacht. 
The fact that the yacht went past in the squall shows 
that he tried to sail out with him. We followed, and 
tried to overtake him; but what could we do in that 
tempest? You know the rest. What’s the use of 
talking? Either they’re dead or they’re not.” 

“God grant they are not,” muttered Brandon, 
earnestly. 

The big villain uttered a heartless laugh. 

“Begorra, an’ me arrums are bushted entoirely,” 
moaned Mike at this juncture. 

“You can take them down, both you and Fender- 
son; but do not dare to move away,” said Brandon. 

“How about me?” asked the Major, weariness 
showing in his face. “There’s no sense in my hold- 
ing my hands up, anyhow. I’m going to take them 
down.” And he started to suit the action to the word, 
but Brandon interposed. 

“Stop, Major. Put them up — up higher. I’m 
not through with you yet.” 

“Well,” exclaimed Bangs, with an air of resigna- 
tion, “what do you want now?” 

“There are many things I would ask if I thought 
you would tell the truth about them, as, for instance, 
why you came to this island. But tell me, have you 
kept your agreement with Carroll Morse?” 

The Major hesitated. If he admitted that the 
agreement made with Cal had been canceled, might 


222 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


he not lose all chance of making a similar one with 
Brandon ? 

“ Yes,” he finally asseverated. 

“Then why isn’t he on shore and at liberty?” 

“I’m not ready for him to come ashore yet.” 

“If he is at liberty on the yacht, why have I seen 
nothing of him on her deck ? I have watched closely 
from time to time all the morning, and haven’t seen 
a sign of him.” 

“ That’s not my fault,” growled the Major. “ Do you 
expect me to set him up on deck for you to gaze at?” 

“No, sir; no more than I expect you to tell the 
truth. I do not believe you. You have broken 
faith with my chum; and yet expect me to believe 
you will keep an agreement with me. You have run 
this expedition long enough. I propose to manage 
it now.” 

Bangs sneered, but made no reply. 

“Now, Mike,” went on Val, “I want you to pick 
up that revolver and toss it out here to me.” 

The Irishman moved forward in obedience to the 
command; but paused as Bangs muttered some- 
thing Val could not hear. 

“Lively, now! ” admonished Brandon. “Throw 
it here.” 

Mike picked up the weapon, and was about to 
carry out Val’s instructions, when Bangs interposed. 

“You shall not!” he exclaimed vehemently. 

“Allow me to say I am bossing this job,” said the 
young skipper, tartly. “Go on, Mike.” 


FORCING THE ISSUE 


223 


The Irishman finally gave the revolver a toss; 
but it did not reach the boat by a dozen feet. Val 
had expected this, but did not care so long as it 
diminished by one the number of firearms in the 
hands of his enemies. 

While this was being done, the Major had stolen 
another glance in the direction of the “Sea Rover,” 
and another grim smile flickered over his face. 

“What makes you think we will leave the island 
to-day?” he demanded with sudden interest. 

“Because I shall compel you.” 

“I guess not.” 

“I won’t argue with you. I know what I’m about.” 

“How’ll you do it ? ” asked the deck hand, incredu- 
lously. 

“Wait and see,” was the short response. “ Mike.” 

The Irishman looked up in some anxiety. 

“Yis, sor.” 

“I want you to go aboard the ‘Sea Rover’ at 
once, and bring back Carroll Morse.” 

“Not much he will,” Bangs exclaimed with another 
peculiar smile. 

“Keep still, if you please, Major. Mike, you will 
take this boat and row to the yacht. Get Carroll 
Morse and bring him ashore at once. I shall hold 
Major Bangs and Fenderson as hostages for your 
prompt obedience to orders. If you try any funny 
business, they suffer. Understand?” 

Mike looked confused. 

“I say no!” shouted Bangs, vehemently. 


224 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


“Keep your mouth shut, Bangs. I’m talking.” 

“You won’t talk much longer, I’ll allow,” re- 
torted the chief of the expedition, with a glance down 
the bay. 

This glance made Val turn for a moment also, and 
the sight he saw was a most unwelcome one. 

The “Sea Rover,” with a cloud of smoke belching 
from her stack, was under way, and just entering 
the harbor. Whether the engineer was disabled or 
not, her engines were running, and her presence in 
the harbor would upset Val’s plans completely. 

“Who’s running her?” asked Val, half involun- 
tarily. 

“Don’t you wish you knew?” jeered Bangs. 
“Better come ashore, my young rooster, before it 
comes on to blow .” 

It was a puzzling moment for the young skipper. 

Meanwhile the yacht came steadily onward, head- 
ing directly for the rowboat. Val saw that if he 
would keep his liberty he must act, and act at once. 


CHAPTER XXIV 


CAL DISCOVERS THE SECRET OF THE EXPEDITION 

After all, it was the Major’s crowd who had 
forced the issue, not Percival Brandon. 

When Val saw the yacht bearing down upon him, 
he laid down the rifle and began rowing energetically 
toward the cave, paying no attention to Bangs, who 
began to threaten. 

Brandon was surprised, too, at what seemed the 
recklessness of those in charge of the “ Rover” in 
attempting to enter the bay on a falling tide. He 
quickly decided, however, that they were acquainted 
with the characteristics of the harbor, for the steamer 
moved at a fair rate of speed, causing Val to ply his 
oars lustily. His rifle would give him no show with 
men fighting behind bulwarks. 

He determined to row into the cave, and thus save 
the boat and its contents. It might be a reckless 
proceeding to thus reveal the entrance to his hiding- 
place; but he felt confident that, once inside him- 
self, he could build a barricade that would keep out 
his enemies. 

Bangs and his companions hurried along the beach 
abreast the tender, jeering at the oarsman. The 
Major seemed to think his turn had come. But 

225 


226 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


Val saved his breath for his work, and made no reply 
to the remarks of the party on shore. His eyes were 
fixed on the yacht, which was covering four feet to 
his one. 

Second to his anxiety to keep out of the clutches 
of Bangs, was a deep curiosity to know who was at 
the steamers wheel. He was not left long in doubt. 
The “Sea Rover” had closed up half the distance 
that intervened between the two craft at the start 
when a head was poked out of the wheel-house win- 
dow, and the mate’s voice hailed him threateningly. 

“ Bruce,” muttered Val, in wonder. “How did 
he get aboard?” 

The “Sea Rover” was now less than an eighth of a 
mile away. She was not running at full speed, for as 
she got up into the bay Bruce’s bump of caution asserted 
itself. She was, however, moving much too rapidly 
to suit Val, who exerted himself at the oars until 
great drops of perspiration rolled off his face and 
trickled down his neck. 

Bangs had paused some distance back. He 
mopped his red face with the late flag of truce, and 
watched the race with great enthusiasm. 

“Let her go, Bruce,” he shouted exultantly to the 
mate, as the yacht came abreast of him. “You’ve 
got him. By Jove, this is our innings.” 

And now the face of the mate took on a look of 
triumph, for he was nearing the tender at a rapid 
pace. He commanded Val in a loud tone to stop 
rowing. 


THE SECRET OF THE EXPEDITION 227 


His command was not obeyed, and his triumph 
was short-lived. A moment later the “Sea Rover ” 
ran aground on a sand-bar with a shock that threat- 
ened to tear off her keel, and almost precipitated 
Bruce through the wheel-house window. And Val 
Brandon presently sent the tender out of sight into 
the cave, disappearing into what his baffled pur- 
suers had hitherto considered a solid wall of rock. 


Carroll Morse did not sleep much on the night the 
yacht reached Tower Island, for anxiety for his chum 
and himself made him exceedingly perturbed. 

For some time after VaPs escape Bangs kept 
things in a bustle on the yacht. Finally, after the 
rockets had been discharged, the Major and Fender- 
son left the yacht, and quiet once more settled down 
over those left behind. 

After several hours of impatient waiting — for he 
had hoped that Val would soon return with assist- 
ance from shore to overpower the yacht’s crew and 
release him — Cal turned in, and fell into a troubled 
sleep. 

Early in the morning he was awakened by tramp- 
ing feet, and the thumping of boxes on the deck. 
The cabin doors were locked, as he had ascertained 
with a little difficulty, for as his hands were hand- 
cuffed behind him, he was obliged to back up to the 
doors in order to manipulate the knobs; but through 
the windows he could gain a fair idea of what was 


228 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


happening outside. Now began the transfer of pro- 
visions and bedding to the island, which Cal could 
see, for the tide, just beginning to ebb, swept around 
the island in such a way that the yacht swung broad- 
side to the shore, thus enabling him to obtain a view 
from the windows. 

He was an interested witness of the chase for Val 
Brandon, though he could get but a vague idea of it 
all, and the result was in uncertainty when he became 
aware that some one was stirring about forward. He 
heard the sound of coal being shoveled into the fur- 
nace, and presently footsteps sounded on the deck and 
a face peered in — a face streaked with blood from a 
wound on the temple, with disheveled hair sticking 
out from under a cap, and eyes that shone with 
feverish light. 

It was Marshall, the engineer, who had recovered 
consciousness. 

“ Where are they all?” he cried. 

“ Ashore,” was CaFs laconic response. The engi- 
neer went forward, and Cal saw no more of him; 
but the shoveling continued at intervals, and occasion- 
ally a wreath of smoke swept down past the window, 
indicating that Marshall was getting up steam. 

What his purpose was in so doing is uncertain, 
for he had regained consciousness with a mind un- 
balanced by his accident; but Bruce, from his posi- 
tion at the harbor entrance, saw the smoke belching 
from the steamer’s stack, and in an agony of appre- 
hension lest Cal was trying to run off with the yacht, 


THE SECRET OF THE EXPEDITION 229 


stripped off his outer clothing and swam out, 
arriving just as steam was up. 

Under his direction the yacht ran into the harbor, 
and gave chase after Val, with results as related. 

When the yacht grounded, Bruce rang violently 
for the engineer to reverse; but that person was 
down in the stoke-hole, and did not at once respond. 
So it was some moments after the “ Rover ” struck 
before her propeller ceased forcing her ahead, during 
which time she wormed herself so deeply into the 
sand-bar that a reversal produced no effect what- 
ever; and they were obliged, perforce, to wait for the 
next tide to lift her from her resting-place. 

But long before that happened, Cal was taken 
ashore on the raft, and now we find him in a second- 
story room in the old mansion — the room into 
which Val had climbed to escape the Major’s wrath, 
— with the handcuffs transferred from his wrists to 
his ankles, under the guardianship of Mr. Mecor- 
rigan. 

Mike nailed down the cover over the opening in the 
floor, put a fastening on the outside of the door, 
and would have secured the scuttle cover in the ceiling 
if he could have managed it; but concluded to let it 
go, since Cal could not possibly get far away with his 
ankles fettered; and, “Onyhow,” as Mike sagely 
remarked, “ he’ll not be able to fly far wid mesilf 
here to clip his wings.” 

There was not much for Cal to inspect in this 
dilapidated abode. The windows afforded him a 


230 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


view of little save trees, with glimpses here and there 
of rough land, covered with rocks and bushes. On 
one side of the room was a fireplace, and across a 
corner had been built a wall of brickwork, white- 
washed, that seemed to close up a doorway. This, 
Cal discovered, was formerly a passage leading into 
the tower, which stood at that corner of the house. 

Dinner came now, and though not sumptuous, 
it was welcome, for owing to a scarcity of dishes, it 
was served on a pine board. But Cal was ravenous, 
and it disappeared quickly enough, even to the last 
drop of black coffee, served with neither milk or sugar, 
and Mike descended to the lower regions, locking 
his prisoner in. 

How slowly the afternoon wore away. Along 
toward night Mike brought in a pair of blankets 
for his bed, and a box, which was evidently intended 
for both chair and table. 

“Can’t you give me a decent chair ?” exclaimed 
Cal, with some asperity, as he saw what Mike' was 
bringing in. 

“Take what yez gets, an’ be thankful/’ advised 
the Irishman, grumpily. “The Major’s losin’ no 
love on the likes of ye at presint.” 

“That’s no fault of mine,” declared Cal. “I 
didn’t want to come on this excursion.” 

“I shpose not. No more did the other bye; an’ 
begorra, he’s cuttin’ up to bate the piper.” 

“Do you mean Val Brandon?” 

“Thot’s what.” 


THE SECRET OF THE EXPEDITION 231 


“What has he done besides getting away?” 

“The wurrust of it is the spalpeen has stayed 
away,” returned Mike, with a grimace. “An’ he’s 
took wid him two boat loads of grub, three guns, 
and plenty of the beddin’ thot was to come ashore, 
an’ the boat.” 

At this recital Cal opened his eyes in astonishment. 

“Where has he gone?” he asked. 

“Oh, he’s not off the oiland — not yit; he wint 
into a shmall cave down on the edge of the wather, 
wid boat an’ all, an’ Oi’m a-tellin’ yez it’ll be the 
ould Nick’s own job to get ’im out of thot same.” 

Cal laughed. 

“Oh, yez can laugh,” grumbled Mike, starting 
for the door as the tramp of feet sounded outside 
the house, “but yez wouldn’t have laughed if yez 
had been shtood up on the wather’s edge an’ foired 
at, begobs.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Thot’s what the spalpeen did ” 

“Where are you, Mike?” asked a voice below, 
and the Irishman vanished, locking the door after 
him, leaving Cal in a state of wonderment at the 
audacious campaign his chum seemed to be con- 
ducting. 

“My word for it, that was a tough pull.” The 
mate’s voice sounded in the room beneath Cal, and 
was clearly audible. “I thought we were stuck on 
that sand-bank for good.” 

“Well,” retorted a second voice, which Cal assigned 


232 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


to Bangs, “if you had used a little common sense, 
you wouldn’t have run aground in that beastly 
fashion. Here it’s taken us nearly all the afternoon 
to get the ‘Rover’ off.” 

“The chart shows no bar where we struck,” 
argued the mate, in self-defense. 

“Pshaw!” said his companion, wearily. “That 
chart was made years ago. Besides, a baby in arms 
would have had more sense than to run into the 
bay at such a gait.” 

“If my memory serves, some one about your size 
was standing on the beach, and howling ‘ Let her go, 
Bruce,’ ” the mate retorted tartly. 

“Well, well,” Bangs responded, in a more concilia- 
tory tone. “We may be both to blame. What’s 
the use of eternally growling at each other? Let’s 
take things easier; we’re in the same boat.” 

Through a knot-hole in the scuttle covering Cal 
could see his captors seated at a box in the room 
beneath. He listened with all his ears. Who 
could tell what the rascals might let drop concerning 
the purpose of the expedition to Tower Island? 

Mike brought in the supper, and it was attacked 
eagerly. A few moments of silence were followed 
by a burst of talk. 

“I had almost forgotten,” suddenly ejaculated 
Bangs. “About this time all my good Stroudport 
friends are weeping over the touching obituary that 
Wheelock was to insert in the papers.” 

Both laughed heartily. Cal listened in perplexity. 


THE SECRET OF THE EXPEDITION 233 


“I told you that I put my identification badge on 
the stiff, didn’t I ?” went on the Major, complacently. 

“What do you mean?” demanded Bruce, with 
interest. 

“I had a suspender badge issued me by the 
National Registry Co. to wear on my person. 
It was numbered, and in case I was found dead 
or unable to care for myself, directed the finder to 
telegraph the company and I would be cared for 
until my friends could be notified. I slipped that 
badge on the ‘ evergreen plant,’ you know. They’re 
bound to find it when my remains are discovered, 
for it’s fire-proof. They’ll wire the Registry Com- 
pany, find that the badge belongs to Bangs, and 
there’s additional evidence of my sudden and sad 
demise. See?” 

“I call that a mighty bright idea! ” rejoined Bruce, 
admiringly. 

“These confounded insurance companies are so 
skittish about paying up when anything looks mys- 
terious,” continued Bangs, “that I think we left no 
stone unturned to satisfy them of the genuineness of 
my untimely end. 

“Pilsingham, as you are aware, was to go to Pod 
Island next day to see how my attack of heart trouble 
was coming out. He, at least, would discover the 
ruins of the cabin, and notify Wheelock and the 
coroner. 

“Result: my half-cremated remains are found in 
the ruins, where, presumably, when a lamp has 


234 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


exploded, I have been seized with heart failure, 
and unable to help myself, have been burnt up. 
Alderman Patterson, though he’s not in the game, 
will swear to my being on the island at nightfall, 
alone. The Doctor makes oath to my having heart 
failure in the afternoon; there is the identification 
badge; and the ‘evergreen plant,’ which is my size, 
all right. The coroner brings in verdict of accidental 
death; Wheelock gives me a good funeral send-off, 
collects the insurance, and we meet him with the 
yacht at Rockland when he gets the swag safely 
cornered.” 

The secret of the expedition was out, and Cal 
Morse was in possession of it! But oblivious of his 
presence, in their elation Bangs and Bruce talked on. 

“And what am I getting out of this deal?” It 
was Bruce that made the inquiry. 

“Better wait until we get it,” retorted Bangs, 
with a laugh. 

“Waiting be hanged!” said the captain of the 
“Sea Rover,” explosively. “We’re bound to get 
it, and I propose to know where I come in. Come, 
show up.” 

Bangs pulled a bundle of papers from his pocket, 
and selected a slip from them. 

“Wheelock has the policies, of course,” he said, 
“but here is a list of them, with the amount of 
each.” 

Bruce was about to take the paper when there 
came a sudden interruption. There was a rapid 


THE SECRET OF THE EXPEDITION 235 


discharge of firearms in the distance, and Mike 
came into the room. 

“Shure, somebody’s a-shootin’ somebody ilse,” 
he reported, in excited tones. 

The slip of paper fell from Bangs’ hand unnoticed 
as the two men started up in surprise. It floated 
quietly to the floor, where none save Cal, his eye 
tightly screwed down to the knot-hole, perceived it. 

“It’s that confounded Brandon,” said Bangs, 
cramming the rest of the bunch into an inside 
pocket as he rose to his feet. 

“ Perhaps Fenderson has winged him,” Bruce 
hopefully suggested. 

“More likely got shot himself,” was the retort, 
as the Major hurried from the room. 

Bruce and Mike followed, and stillness settled 
down over the old stone house, while Cal Morse in 
the dilapidated room in the second story, rose from 
the floor, thrilled with the suddenness and com- 
pleteness of the discovery he had made. 

“What a plot!” he ejaculated. “A plot to de- 
fraud the insurance companies, and nothing else. 
Dr. Pilsingham was in it, just as Val surmised, and 
to him we owe all our woes, for he discovered that 
we knew something about the Evergreen plant.’ 

“We knew enough to spoil things,” he went on, 
“or at least to raise a suspicion that would lead to 
investigation and bring the plot to light. Pilsing- 
ham told Bangs what we had stumbled upon, and 
we were kidnaped and brought here, to be kept 


236 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


till the policies are collected and the gang can skip 
out.” 

Cal had hit the nail on the head ! 

“Now,” he continued, “there was a body placed 
in the cabin on the island, and the cabin was evi- 
dently fired. That body was the ‘evergreen plant/ 
and, if I am not much mistaken, there is a case of 
body-snatching mixed up in this matter, for which 
job a certain party got a hundred dollars. ‘Ever- 
green’ must be the name of the cemetery where it 
was dug up. Holy smoke, what a scheme!” 

Cal was so elated at his discovery that he forgot 
his surroundings; he forgot that Brandon might 
be getting himself into difficulty somewhere on the 
island ; he forgot that, for all he knew to the 
contrary, Sumner Parker might now be lying in a 
watery grave, and the “Spitfire” at the bottom 
with him. 

He had found out the Major’s plot, and that 
thought completely absorbed him. 

“The paper, the paper that Bangs dropped,” he 
muttered presently. “He said that had a list of 
the policies on his life. There must, then, be others 
besides the one for a hundred thousand dollars he 
held in the Liberty Mutual. Wish I could get hold 
of that paper. I wonder if I can’t?” 

A hook and line might bring it up, he thought, 
provided he could start a board in the scuttle; but 
he had neither hook, line, or hammer. It happened, 
however, that when Mike had nailed down the cover, 


THE SECRET OF THE EXPEDITION 237 


in picking out his nails from a box of such things, 
he had encountered a big spike, and with charac- 
teristic impatience, had thrown it one side. Cal 
sighted it now, and set to work prying at the cover. 
By dint of much effort he started a corner board, 
and finally had the pleasure of wrenching it up. 

As he worked, an idea for securing the paper 
from the room below had occurred to him, and he 
proceeded to put it into practice, working with all 
possible speed, for the Major and his companions 
might come back at any moment and interrupt 
him. 

Having no string of any sort, he thought a thread 
from one of the blankets might answer; but being 
without a knife — this had been taken away by 
Bangs before he left the yacht — he found it impos- 
sible to ravel the firmly bound edges. 

So he was forced to use the entire blanket for his 
fishing line. For a hook the spike was thrust through 
a corner of the cloth, and for bait a piece of tutti- 
frutti gum, which Cal luckily found in his clothes, 
chewed to a soft consistency, was stuck to the end 
of the spike. The blanket, spike down, was lowered 
through the hole, and the gum, after considerable 
maneuvering, was brought in contact with the slip 
of paper on the floor below. 

It stuck there, of course, — did you ever see 
tutti-frutti gum that wouldn’t stick to anything and 
everything? — and the paper was drawn up to Cal’s 
eager hand. 


238 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


Eager, did I say? It was so nervous that it 
trembled like a leaf as it grasped the little sheet and 
lifted it to Cal’s eyes, for a mystery that had baffled 
him ever since his capture was now revealed, and 
its magnitude startled him. 

And this is what Cal read : — 

“Liberty Mutual, $100,000 

Franklin Life, 50,000 

Chicago Mutual, 25,000 

Provident, 1 o, 000 ’ ’ 

and so on down through a considerable list, the 
amounts growing smaller toward the bottom, but 
none less than $5000. The aggregate was footed 
up beneath, and below that was an item, “Premiums 
paid, $15,275.” 

“Whew!” Cal gasped, when he had scanned the 
slip. “Here’s half a million dollars in twenty dif- 
ferent companies. Oh, if Val only knew. How in 
the wide world can we stop their game?” 

An hour passed before the tramp of feet below 
announced that his captors had returned, but long 
before that time he had replaced the board in the 
floor, and obliterated every evidence of his fishing 
exploit, except that he had not returned the paper. 

Some one came scrambling up the ladder which 
Mike had that afternoon constructed to replace the 
rude post and cross-pieces, unlocked the door, and 
hurried in. It was Bangs. 


THE SECRET OF THE EXPEDITION 239 


“Oh, you’re here, are you?” he said in a tone of 
relief. 

“Where did you suppose I was?” asked Cal, 
somewhat tartly. “In Stroudport?” 

The Major inspected Cal’s fetters. 

“All right,” he muttered, turning to go. “But 
who in creation was that in the cave?” And ap- 
parently nonplussed at something, he withdrew, 
fastening the door after him. 

Inasmuch as the bedstead that Val had found in 
the room on the previous night was devoid of mat- 
tress, or even slats, Cal’s bed was composed of 
blankets spread on the bare floor. 

It was not late in the evening when he lay down 
to sleep, and scarcely had he done so, when Bangs 
entered, and announced his intention of occupying 
the room with his captive. His motive was very 
evidently to maintain a strict guard over Morse, but 
he endeavored to cover his purpose by remarking — 

“And I’ll give you a better bed than you have 
there, if you think you can endure my company.” 

As almost anything was better than hard flooring, 
Cal was willing to entertain Bangs for the sake of 
the mattresses that the Irishman now brought. Two 
beds were made up side by side on the floor, and 
again Cal lay down and tried to sleep, while Bangs 
was soon snoring beside him. But between the 
tumult of his thoughts and the strangeness of his 
surroundings, everything about the old house had 
long been still before Cal began to doze. 


240 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


Even then he was not destined to be undisturbed. 
Of a sudden, something hit him rather smartly on 
the face, and as he sat up, sleepily wondering what 
the trouble was, a voice from somewhere whispered, 
“Cal, wake up.” 


CHAPTER XXV 


UP GOES THE JOLLY ROGER 

When Val Brandon reached his refuge in the cave 
he was completely “ tuckered out,” and for a few 
moments lay panting on the blankets. Soon re- 
gaining his breath, however, he proceeded to rec- 
onnoiter. 

He worked his way cautiously to the mouth of the 
cavern and peeped out. The “Sea Rover” was 
churning the water vigorously; Bangs from the 
beach was talking loudly to the deck hand, who had 
swam after and secured the raft; no one seemed 
to be thinking of the young skipper. 

There appearing to be no immediate danger of an 
attack, Val lost no time in strengthening his position. 
He carried all his supplies, blankets, everything, 
a short distance up the passage, and then dragged 
the boat through the doorway and closed the door. 
He not only barricaded the door with the bar, but 
jammed the stern of the tender against it. 

“There,” he said, when this was accomplished, 
“HI venture they won’t get in without my knowing 
it.” 

Relighting the torch, by its ruddy glare he filled 
and lighted the lantern. He now transferred every- 
thing but the boat up the passage to the “pirate 

241 


242 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


lair,” as he termed it. There was quite a pile when 
all the boxes, bags, pails, et cetera, were grouped 
together, and Val, scanning the collection, felt that 
he had not only established a commissary depart- 
ment far beyond his present needs, but had possibly 
so depleted the Major’s store as to cause him actual 
distress. But without pausing to consider that phase 
of the matter at present, he lighted the oil stove, 
and prepared a satisfying meal. Water only was 
lacking to make his repast complete; but he con- 
trived to make shift with the juice from a can of 
pears, declaring that not many hours should pass 
before he had found a supply of the necessary liquid. 

But it was not, after all, a jolly meal that Val 
made of it. Seated on a box, with the viands spread 
out on the old table, down in that damp, musty hole 
in the ground, whose gloom was scarcely dissipated 
by the combined light of torch, lantern, and oil stove; 
one of his chums in captivity; one perhaps drowned 
— though Val hardly dared think of it — his yacht 
no one knew where, and a pack of rascals trying to 
get at him; where in the whole situation could one 
find cause for a vestige of merriment? 

But Val resolutely shut out gloomy thoughts from 
his mind, realizing they could only make him down- 
hearted, without changing his condition one iota. 

“As for me,” he muttered, peremptorily dismiss- 
ing the subject as often as it intruded itself upon his 
thoughts, “I’m getting on. I’m a king now to what 
I was last night.” 


UP GOES THE JOLLY ROGER 243 


The probable builders of the tunnel afforded him 
change of thought, and he examined with interest 
the old drapings of the “lair.” His meal finished, 
he decided to explore the one passage to which he 
was still a stranger — the branch leading off to the 
right from the shore tunnel, or “Water St.,” as 
Val had named it. However, before doing this, he 
took the precaution to fasten the trap-door that 
topped the outlet into the cellar, and also made a 
trip to the barricade, for he did not want Bangs to 
steal a march upon him from any quarter. 

Drawing back the tender he opened the door, 
stepped into the cavern, and peered out at the yacht. 
Apparently she had not budged an inch since running 
aground. Some one was lounging in the shade of 
the pilot-house, and as he watched, Bangs and the 
mate stepped into sight, and closely scanned the 
shore in the neighborhood of the cave. 

“Wonder what they are planning to do now,” 
muttered Val. He knew he could stand off an 
attack if it did not catch him napping. The chance 
of a surprise was the cause of worriment. 

“ Just for luck, to let ’em know I’m not asleep, 
I’ll send a shot in their direction,” he exclaimed, pick- 
ing up the rifle, which he determined from now 
henceforward to have with him whenever practicable. 
Aiming at a point just above the wheel-house, he 
fired. 

The puff of smoke filled the cavern, but not before 
Val saw Bangs and Bruce drop suddenly from sight. 


244 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


With a chuckle the young captain withdrew, secured 
the door as before, and started upon his exploration. 

Turning off from Water St. he followed the un- 
explored tunnel, lantern in hand, for an eighth of a 
mile before he met with anything of especial interest. 
Save in a very few places there was no planking in 
this section of the underground passage. It was 
almost wholly a natural rock tunnel, whose height 
and width varied greatly in different places — being 
at times so high he could not touch the roof, at others 
so low he was forced to stoop ; and finally the passage 
narrowed to an aperture about two feet in diameter, 
through which he crawled, to find himself in a cham- 
ber of rock, several feet square, about the sides of 
which a flight of stone stairs wound upward in a 
rough spiral. 

Up he climbed for perhaps forty feet until his head 
came against an iron trap-door, fastened on the under 
side by a huge bolt. 

Shoving this back with some difficulty, Val pushed 
open the trap. A dazzling stream of sunlight greeted 
him ; and when he became accustomed to the bright- 
ness and could understand his position, he uttered 
a whistle of amazement. He stood on the top of a 
stone tower, fully thirty feet from the ground. The 
tower was perhaps ten feet in diameter at its top, 
and a parapet, or wall, some three feet in height, 
encircled the summit. 

Hasty examination showed several things. The 
tower stood on the eastern shore of the island — one 


UP GOES THE JOLLY ROGER 245 


side of it, in fact, being washed by the waves — and, 
most singularly, the structure was both natural and 
artificial. The backbone of the tower, if I may use 
the term, was a shaft of rock rising from the water’s 
edge. On the landward side of this a semicircular 
wall, or “ bay-window,” of stone masonry had been 
built from the ground to the summit of the shaft, 
with the spiral stairs inside. To give to the artifi- 
cial portion the unscalable quality of the natural 
part, a deep coping had been made in the wall a 
few feet below the top, which would prove an effec- 
tual barrier to any one trying to climb up the stone- 
work. 

Val viewed all these things with wonder and grati- 
fication. 

“I could not have asked for a safer or better 
lookout,” he exclaimed exultantly. “’Twill take a 
longer and better ladder than Mike’s to reach me 
here. Here, after a fashion,” he mused, gazing 
about, “I can keep in touch with affairs on the 
island, for the grove is in sight, the harbor is in sight, 
and the 'Sea Rover,’ and — by George!” he 
exploded, under the stimulus of a new idea, “here 
I can set a signal if any vessel passes.” 

And he immediately scanned the seaward horizon 
for a sail. None, however, was visible; but some 
one was moving through the bushes near the head 
of the harbor, and Val dropped behind the parapet 
as he reconnoitered. 

“There goes Mike,” he said presently. “Yes, and 


246 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


Cal’s with him. Poor old Cal, they must be taking 
him up to the house. It’s as I thought. Bangs has 
broken his agreement, and intends to keep Cal in 
confinement. Oh, Major Bangs,” he gritted fiercely, 
shaking a fist in the direction of the yacht, “you shall 
pay dearly for all this.” 

Two iron rings, one above the other, were fixed 
on the inner side of the parapet. They suggested a 
signal pole, and Val promptly decided it would be 
a first-class plan to prepare one. What to use for 
the purpose was a puzzler, until it occurred to him 
that one of the tender’s oars would answer, and for 
a flag what better than the one he had found in the 
“lair” ? 

In less than half an hour Val had secured both 
oar and flag, and brought them, with hammer and 
nails, to the tower. Being destitute of either block 
or halyards, he nailed the flag securely to the oar 
blade and measured the rings, to assure himself the 
oar handle would fit, that all might be in instant 
readiness when needed. 

The tide was now on the flow, and Brandon felt 
certain Bangs and his confederates would remain 
on the yacht till she floated. There being nothing 
further to do, and feeling somewhat the worse for 
wear, Val voted it a capital time to make up lost 
sleep. 

Stretched out on one of the broad steps just under 
the deck of the tower, for several hours he slept 
soundly, lulled by the sound of the waves breaking 


UP GOES THE JOLLY ROGER 247 


against the rocks below, which reached him faintly, 
like the echo of surf on beaches miles away. 

When at last Val awoke with a start, his watch 
indicated six o’clock. He climbed to the top of 
the tower, and looked toward the harbor. The 
“Sea Rover” had been backed off the sand, but no 
one was in sight. 

But when he glanced seaward his eyes met a sight 
that thrilled him with hope. Several miles to the 
eastward, plowing directly toward the island, was 
a steamer, her stacks belching a cloud of black 
smoke that swept away over the water and obscured 
the horizon behind her. 

“At last!” exclaimed Val, with feverish eagerness. 
“Now up with the Jolly Roger.” 

It was the work of a moment to put the oar in 
place, and as the old piratical flag swung to the 
breeze for the first time in years, Val Brandon sat 
down on the parapet of the old tower and waited 
anxiously for the steamer to approach. Would she 
heed his signal? 


CHAPTER XXVI 


BANGS SCORES A POINT 

Percival Brandon would have laughed derisively 
if any one had told him that within a week after the 
beginning of his cruise he would be anxiously signal- 
ing a steamer with a pirate’s flag from a tower on 
Tower Island. 

But it was just so; and so great was his eagerness, 
that although the steamer was still too far distant 
to notice his signal, he could scarce resist the impulse 
to dance about, wave his arms, and shout at the top 
of his lungs. 

In reality it was less than half an hour — though 
to Val it seemed an eternity — before the steamer 
came near enough for him to make out people on her 
decks. Now, if at all, his signal must be seen. 
More nervously than ever he watched for some token 
of response. 

But now the steamer swung off, as if to pass the 
island at a greater distance. Val uttered a groan. 
Had he known she was a full mile nearer than her 
course usually took her, and that uncertainty re- 
garding soundings alone made her captain cautious, 
this revulsion of feeling would have been spared him. 

Imagining this new-found hope was about to 

248 


BANGS SCORES A POINT 


249 


leave him, he pulled off his coat and waved it lustily, 
hallooing like an Indian as he did so; oblivious of 
everything except the steamer and his intense desire 
to attract her attention. 

This action producing no visible effect, he dropped 
the coat, pulled the oar from its socket, and waved it 
desperately to and fro, until his arms ached from the 
violent exercise. 

At last, fairly tired out, he replaced the oar, and 
was sitting dejectedly down again, when a colored 
pennant went fluttering up to the steamer’s fore- 
mast head, and Val knew his efforts were not in vain. 
With an exclamation of thankfulness he leaped to 
his feet and enthusiastically waved his cap; but to 
this demonstration came an entirely unlooked-for 
response. 

Ping! Ping! 

There was a sharp report, and two bullets 
hurtled past his ears, barely missing his head. His 
attempt to attract the steamer had brought upon 
him the occupants of the island. 

Val dropped to the floor, and crept to where his 
rifle lay. Then placing his cap on the muzzle, he 
slowly raised it to the edge of the parapet, intend- 
ing to draw the fire of his assailants and determine 
their position. He did not care to look over himself 
and risk a bullet in the head. 

No sooner did the cap show above the rampart 
than a succession of shots greeted it, whistling over 
the tower in a way that made Val shiver. The 


250 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


fusillade ceased after five shots were fired, though 
Val still moved the cap along slowly at the edge 
of the stone-work. 

“Only one man,” he muttered, “and that’s the 
last shot in his revolver. I’ll take a look.” And 
he cautiously did so, leveling his rifle before showing 
his head. 

Fenderson was some hundred feet distant, in a 
clump of bushes, hurriedly reloading his revolver. 

“Drop that pistol,” called Val, determinedly. 

Fenderson glanced up apprehensively, and catch- 
ing sight of the rifle, backed by Val’s face, slipped 
down out of view behind a boulder. 

“Pull down your flag,” he retorted, from his 
retreat, “or we will shoot it down.” 

“Then shoot,” Val grimly responded, watching 
for the revolver’s reappearance; nothing of the deck 
hand was visible, but the fellow would doubtless try 
another shot if he had the chance. 

“Do you see the steamer?” queried Val, presently. 

No response. 

“She’s putting off a boat,” continued Brandon, 
“and if your jig isn’t up inside of half an hour, my 
name is Dennis.” 

Silently the deck hand crouched behind his rock. 
He felt that for a man in his position discretion was 
the better part of valor. 

But now came a hail from the direction of the 
house. 

“Halloo!” 


BANGS SCORES A POINT 


251 


Three persons came hurrying into sight from out 
the grove, climbing over the rocks, and racing through 
the bushes toward the tower. 

“Ho, Fenderson!” 

The newcomers resolved themselves into Bangs, 
Bruce, and Mike. They would run for a distance, 
then pause and halloo, pointing first at the tower, 
and then at the steamer, and gesticulating as though 
bereft of their senses. 

Finally they halted, and for fully five minutes 
held a consultation. During this time Val kept his 
rifle leveled at the deck hand’s boulder, and alter- 
nately eyed his aim and the steamer. 

The steamer had swung around toward the shore 
and stopped her engines. A boat was putting off, 
as Val had said, and was rapidly traversing the dis- 
tance to shore. The craft was a good-sized one. 
Her upper deck was thronged with passengers, but 
she was not near enough for Val to decipher the name 
that glittered in gilt letters on her pilot-house. 

The boat had started directly for the tower, but 
owing to ledges that cropped out offshore, was forced 
to turn aside somewhat, and pull more to the west- 
ward. At this change of direction Val began to 
call and gesticulate, holding the rifle with one hand 
while he beckoned with the other. 

And now came an incident in the history of Val’s 
involuntary trip to Tower Island that caused him 
as much exasperation as anything that occurred 
during his whole stay at that place. 


252 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


The boat crew paid no attention to his outcry, 
but rowed obliquely past, toward a beach several 
hundred yards distant. 

Glancing shoreward, Val found that Bangs was 
nowhere to be seen. The mate and Mike were 
going to meet the boat. Fenderson had crawled 
out of range, and hurried to join them. 

“Come over here,” shouted Brandon, forming 
a trumpet of his hands to better carry the sound to 
the occupants of the boat. “Over here. Come 
over here.” 

If the oarsmen understood, they did not obey. 
One of the men — there were four — turned at the 
sound, and nodded his head. Why should they 
make a landing on the rocks when a good beach 
was close at hand ? They knew nothing of the state 
of affairs on the island. 

Val’s spirits went down to zero as he saw how 
matters were turning. It was useless to shout now; 
the boat was going farther and farther away every 
moment. Presently it was close to the beach. 
Then Bruce waved his hand in the direction of the 
tower; the rowers stopped work, and the boat 
tossed lazily on the swell while a confab went on 
between the party afloat and the party ashore. 
Though Val did not ascertain until some time later, 
the conversation was much as follows. 

“What do you want?” demanded the man in 
charge of the boat, who had stopped fifty feet from 
shore. 


BANGS SCORES A POINT 


253 


“ Nothing,” returned Bruce. “The man on the 
tower has gone crazy, and we can’t get up there to 
stop him. We came out here on a fishing trip. He 
fell and hurt his head in a storm, and has been ‘out’ 
ever since.” 

“Is that all?” ejaculated the spokesman, dis- 
gustedly. He glanced over at Val’s figure on the 
tower. The excited gestures of the youth seemed 
to bear out the mate’s statements exactly. 

“He’s crazy as a loon,” asseverated Bruce, earn- 
estly. “We are unable to do anything with him; 
he thinks we are trying to keep him here against his 
will.” 

The officer got his boat around, and headed for 
the steamer. 

“I wish you joy of him,” he exclaimed shortly. 
“But I’d advise you to get him down from there. 
He’ll stop every vessel that comes near.” 

“You can’t feel worse about it than we do,” 
replied Bruce, apologetically. “It’s bad enough to 
have him go crazy ” 

“I suppose so,” cut in the officer, brusquely. He 
gave an order, and the boat pulled for the steamer 
without further ado. 

“Take me off,” shouted Val, as the boat came 
back past the tower. “I want to get off.” 

The only reply was a revolving motion that one 
of the men made with his hand near his head, as if 
to imply that the young skipper “had wheels.” 

The steamer was soon reached, and the boat 


254 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


hauled aboard. With a churn of her paddles the 
craft went off on her course, leaving Val in a state 
of dejection better imagined than described. 

In the midst of his gloomy thoughts came a taunt- 
ing laugh from somewhere out in the bushes. 

“Did you ever get left?” queried a voice. It was 
the deck hand. 


CHAPTER XXVII 


VAL FINDS CAL AND ENCOUNTERS A LUNATIC 

Val had discovered that his tower could keep 
people in as well as out. Only the belief that other 
vessels might come within hail at more auspicious 
moments kept him from jumping to the ground, and 
risking broken bones and an encounter with Bruce 
and his mates that he might interview the steamer’s 
men. 

Now as the steamer was speeding from the island, 
the deck hand’s taunt drew his attention shoreward, 
and it was well it did. Fenderson, after delivering 
himself of his sarcastic query, hurried away toward 
the harbor. The mate and Mike moved more 
leisurely in that direction, until Bangs presently 
came out of concealment and joined them. Then 
the quartet came together and moved rapidly in 
the direction of the cave. 

It flashed upon the young yachtsman that an 
attack was planned during his absence. Bangs 
naturally wished to recover his missing provisions. 

Val took down the signal oar and flag, and hustled 
down from the tower, fastening the trap behind him. 
He broke all records in reaching the barricade, but 
found nothing as yet disturbed. He pulled away 

255 


256 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


the tender, opened the door, and stepped into the 
cave. 

As he emerged, something came floating up to the 
entrance of the cavern — the raft, with four persons 
upon it. 

“ Lucky thought/’ some one remarked in an under- 
tone. “If that grub is in here, we will get it now.” 

“Do you think he would be fool enough to go off 
and leave it here?” another queried, in doubtful 
tone. It sounded like the deck hand. 

“Well, I don’t think he carted it away in his 
pocket.” This from Bangs, in sarcasm. 

“Steady, there,” said Bruce, as the raft grated 
against the rocks at the entrance. 

The sun had set, and dusk was deepening over the 
harbor, so that, while it was easy for Val to see the 
quartet on the raft, they were unable to perceive 
him in the gloom of the cavern. 

“Bang! Bang! Bang!” 

Thrice in succession Val fired the rifle in the water 
directly in the faces of his enemies, the discharges 
throwing spray over them, and the flashes blinding 
their eyes. But greater than anything else was the 
effect of their mighty surprise. 

“Ouch! Ouch! Le’ me off!” The four started 
back with such suddenness that the raft tipped up 
and let them all into the water. For several moments 
consternation reigned supreme. For dear life they 
waded and swam out of range of the cave, temporarily 
disregarding the raft, which floated away empty. 


VAL ENCOUNTERS A LUNATIC 257 


Chuckling mightily, Val crept out to the entrance 
and listened. 

“Great Scott!” ejaculated some one on the beach, 
when Val’s assailants had all reached shore, “who 
in the old Nick is in that cave?” 

“Must be Brandon,” rejoined another. “Lordy! 
but I thought I was a dead man.” 

“How could Brandon get into the cave without 
our seeing him?” asked another, contemptuously. 

“If you’re so anxious to know who’s in there, go 
in and see,” was the caustic retort. 

“Wasn’t that Brandon on the tower?” Val 
recognized the Major’s anxious voice. 

“Certainly.” 

“Then, by the great horn spoon, Morse has got 
away! ” 

All conversation ceased. There ensued a scram- 
bling up the bluff; then silence. 

“Gone to see if Cal is safe,” mused Val, as he 
withdrew from the cave and restored the barricade. 
“I think they’ll be chary about investigating the 
cave again right away.” 

Supper that night consisted mainly of boneless 
chicken. Water for coffee was still lacking; but a 
second can of pears furnished more juice, which, 
heated over the stove, with coffee and condensed 
milk added, produced a sweet and decidedly “fruity” 
beverage. 

“If I leave the tower unguarded for any length of 
time,” mused Val, thoughtfully, as the chicken dis- 


258 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


appeared, “they are bound to try to get possession 
there. If I stay on the tower, they’ll get into the 
cave. Again, they may discover the passage leading 
from the house; and when they find Cal still at the 
house, they will either believe there is a third person 
on the island, who fired on them from the cave, or 
else suspect the existence of the underground passage. 
They know it was impossible for me to reach the 
cave ahead of them, traveling on top of the ground. 
And if they suspect a tunnel, what is more natural 
than they should try to dig into it ? 

“Look at it as I will, the prospect ahead is one of 
wearisome excitement and worry, for I can’t stand 
watch all the time.” 

The more Val pondered the situation, the more 
worried he grew. He now saw clearly the danger to 
which he had exposed himself by revealing the cave 
entrance, in the first place, and secondly by appear- 
ing in the cave so shortly after being seen on the 
tower. 

Lost in cogitation, time passed rapidly. Should 
he, or should he not, seal up one or more of the 
passage entrances? At all events he would not 
close the water entrance, for it was his purpose to 
leave the island in the boat at the first chance. But 
before this was done, he wished to accomplish two 
things: obtain water, and communicate with, and 
if possible release, Cal. 

“I’ll go to the house now,” he finally determined, 
“and try to find where Cal is.” 


VAL ENCOUNTERS A LUNATIC 259 


Ten minutes later found him in the garret of the 
old mansion. He noiselessly removed from the 
scuttle in the floor the covering which Mike had 
replaced after making futile search for him in the 
garret and tower. From the room below came the 
sound of vigorous snoring. The moonlight, stream- 
ing in, showed two forms upon the floor. It touched 
the features of Cal. 

To arouse Cal without disturbing his companion 
was a problem. Val picked off a fragment of plaster 
from the ceiling beneath, and tossed it at his chum’s 
upturned face. His aim was true, and Cal opened 
his eyes, as his ears caught the whisper: — 

“Cal, wake up.” 

Carroll Morse arose from his blankets and peered 
about for the source of the whisper. 

“ Val, ” he responded softly. “Val, where are you ?” 

“Overhead, at the scuttle.” 

“Thank heaven, it’s you,” said Cal, still in a 
whisper, stepping slowly and cautiously to the center 
of the room, and raising his face toward his chum’s, 
which was, however, scarce distinguishable in the 
gloom. “How did you get up there, and how are 
you, old fellow?” 

“Right as a trivet,” responded the skipper of the 
“Spitfire,” cheerily, for it was as good as a tonic to 
get even this indistinct view of Cal. “Are they 
using you decently?” 

“Enough to eat, but Bangs has put the handcuffs 
on my ankles. If I escaped, I couldn’t get far.” 


260 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


“I felt certain Bangs had broken his agreement 
with you; and told him so,” said Val. “But we’ll 
have you out of there, handcuffs or no handcuffs. 
Who is that snoring on the floor?” 

“Bangs; and I say, Val,” continued Cal, suddenly 
bethinking himself, “I’ve found out the gang’s 
secret.” 

“What is it?” 

As briefly as possible Cal related the conversation 
he had overheard between his captors, and the in- 
cident of fishing for the paper, while Val listened 
with deep interest. 

“Great smoke!” Val muttered, when the recital 
was concluded. “We must manage to put a stop- 
per on that program. Come, move that box over 
here, get on it and give me your hands. We’ll 
give the gang the slip this very night and row 
for help.” 

Cal cautiously brought the box and placed it 
beneath the opening, but in trying to get his fettered 
feet upon its top he slipped and came down upon the 
floor with a jar that aroused the Major, whose 
snoring instantly ceased. 

“What’s that?” he inquired, sitting upright. 
“Where are you, Morse? 

“I believe you’re trying to escape,” he exclaimed 
roughly, coming to Cal’s side, and noting the posi- 
tion of the box beneath the scuttle. “Come back 
and lie down.” 

He forced Cal to recline once more, and removing 


VAL ENCOUNTERS A LUNATIC 261 


the handcuffs from his ankles, put one on Cal’s 
left wrist and the other on his own right. 

“ There,” he chuckled, as he composed himself to 
sleep again, “I think we’ll know where you are 
hereafter.” 

Believing that nothing more could be done in Cal’s 
behalf at present, Val waited until the Major’s 
heavy breathing denoted his somnolent condition, 
replaced the cover, and went back to the lair. 

Like lightning out of a clear sky had been revealed 
the reason for Bangs’ expedition to Tower Island. 
All that before seemed so mysterious was now as 
clear as day. The “evergreen plant,” the strange 
behavior of Dr. Pilsingham, the reason for the ruse 
that resulted in their capture aboard the “Sea Rover,” 
— everything, in fact, was explained. And now, 
knowing that a member of the gang was still in 
Stroudport awaiting the settlement of the insurance 
policies on Bangs’ life, Val’s thoughts turned more 
than ever to ways and means of escape. 

“They shall never get the money, if I can possibly 
prevent it,” he gritted through set teeth, “but it’s a 
pretty clever scheme, after all.” 

However, as his cogitations grew more lucid, 
his excitement subsided somewhat. 

“After all,” he mused, seating himself on the 
table in the lair, and addressing himself to the 
lantern, “those twenty life companies won’t all pay 
Bangs’ claim at once. Some will take sixty and 
ninety days, even after satisfying themselves of the 


262 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


validity of the claim; and as to its validity, — well, of 
course an inquest will be held at once, and the 
gang’s man will see that it is done at the earliest 
possible moment; but while the chain of evidence 
seems complete, — there’s the fire, the heart failure, 
the half cremated remains of a man closely resem- 
bling Bangs in size, the identification badge, and what 
not, — yet some of the companies will be suspicious 
and go into the matter very thoroughly before paying. 

“I know ’em,” he added with conviction, “and 
guess I can spare a day or two to getting Cal free 
before making a dash for freedom in the boat.” 

Having reached this conclusion, the pangs of thirst 
assailed him, and he started in search of water. He 
emptied the egg pail, and went out by the cellar trap, 
pail in hand. .Believing there would be a patrol 
somewhere about, he employed great caution in 
his movements. Without especial incident, and un- 
molested, however, he finally reached the beach on 
the southwestern shore, where it was his hope to 
find a brook emptying into the sea. 

He was now in an un visited portion of the island. 
The moon was shining brightly, and though not 
full by a day or two, it was yet sufficiently brilliant 
to make objects quite distinct. Realizing that his 
figure must show quite plainly upon the sand, he 
hurried onward, keeping a sharp lookout for both 
water and foes. He had taken the precaution to 
bring the rifle. 

After a walk of perhaps a quarter of a mile along 


VAL ENCOUNTERS A LUNATIC 263 


the beach he broke into a run at sight of a dark 
streak athwart the sand ahead — for he was nearly 
consumed with thirst — and came to a small brook 
that trickled down from a rocky bluff. A succession 
of bowl-shaped hollows formed the bed of the stream 
down the slope of the rock. Val dipped the pail 
and drank his fill. The water, though warm, was 
clear and sweet. 

Not having seen a sign of any one since leaving the 
tunnel, when he had finally filled the pail ready for 
the return, he did what for the past ten minutes he 
had been longing to do — took a dip in the surf. 
Not a breath of air was stirring, and the heat of the 
day still clung to the island. Hastily disrobing, he 
hid his clothing, with the pail and rifle, in a shadowy 
recess, and plunged in. 

Emerging presently from the surf, dripping from 
head to foot, and all in a tingle of pleasurable ex- 
hilaration, he beheld some one running toward him 
on the beach, not ten rods off. The moonlight de- 
fined him quite clearly, running at top speed, and 
waving both arms in the air. 

The beach was fairly wide, for the tide was out, 
and before Val could reach his clothes, the man had 
approached near enough to make his voice heard 
above the surf. 

“Stop! Stop!” he cried. “Come with me to the 
moon. Come to the moon.” 

Brandon thought he had rather not; at least, not 
without more clothing. He seized his possessions 


264 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


and scrambled to the highest place attainable on the 
bluff, and began dressing as rapidly as his moist 
condition would permit. 

His pursuer halted on the sand below, and with 
face upturned and hands outstretched, pathetically 
implored the skipper of the “ Spitfire ” to “come 
with him to the moon — to the moon.” 

It was Marshall, the engineer of the “Sea Rover.” 

Brandon’s alarm quickly subsided when he ascer- 
tained its true cause, for he did not believe the 
engineer was dangerously insane. 

“Wait a minute, can’t you, till I get dressed?” 
he returned, in a decided tone. “I can’t go to the 
moon without any clothes on.” 

The sense of this statement seemed to penetrate 
the frenzy of the lunatic. He subsided until Val 
completed his toilet and descended to the beach, 
the young skipper having in the meantime cast about 
for some method of handling his companion. He 
had never encountered a lunatic before. 

“Marshall,” he asked pleasantly, placing a hand 
on the engineer’s shoulder, “why do you go to the 
moon to-night?” 

“Don’t call me Marshall,” remonstrated the 
engineer, petulantly. “I am not Marshall. I used 
to know a man named Marshall, a long, long time 
ago. He was engineer on the 'Sea Rover,’ that 
sailed from Stroudport years ago, to go to Tower 
Island.” 

“Why did she go to Tower Island?” asked Val. 


VAL ENCOUNTERS A LUNATIC 265 


“ There was a man named Bangs,” continued 
Marshall, like a man talking in his sleep, “who 
burnt himself up, and then hired the ‘Sea Rover’ to 
take him to Tower Island. Marshall was the engi- 
neer, but all this was years ago — many years ago.” 

“Why did Bangs go to Tower Island?” ques- 
tioned Val, curious to see if the engineer would cor- 
roborate what he already knew of the Major’s plot. 

“For money — money,” was the prompt response, 
uttered in a feverish tone. “Little dollars and big 
dollars — dollars that shine — shine like the moon 
— like the moony 

He was fast relapsing into frenzy again when Val 
grasped him firmly by the shoulders, and looked 
him squarely in the eyes. 

“You are Marshall,” he declared firmly. “Try 
to think. You are Marshall, the engineer of the 
‘Sea Rover.’ ” 

The engineer passed a hand wearily across his 
brow. 

“No — no — no,” he returned half-hesitatingly. 
“You are wrong. Marshall is dead.” 

“You are Marshall,” insisted Brandon, deter- 
minedly. “Now, Marshall, where did Bangs ex- 
pect to find the money he came to Tower Island 
after?” 

“I am not Marshall,” was the response, “but 
gold is yellow and the moon is yellow, and the money 
was to come from the moon — from the moon.” 

His voice rose higher and higher, until the last 


266 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


words were uttered in a shriek. He grasped Val 
tightly by the arm. 

“See,” he cried, pointing exultantly aloft, “the 
moon, my moon. I am going there, and you will 
go with me.” 

“How will you go, Marshall?” asked Val, pulling 
himself out of the madman’s clutches with some 
effort. 

“I tell you I am not Marshall,” was the indignant 
protest. “I am not Marshall; I am the Man in 
the Moon. Over the sea and through the air, past 
the stars, we will sail, to the moon, my moon. Come.” 

Brandon made another attempt to reduce the man 
to reason. Again he grasped him by the shoulders, 
turned his face away from the moon, and looked 
him squarely in the eyes. 

“Have you a file about you?” he inquired. 

“I have a pocket file in my jack-knife,” returned 
the engineer, surprised into a semblance of sanity by 
the change of subject. 

“Let me borrow it,” continued Val. 

Marshall handed him a pocket knife containing 
a small file. 

“What do you want of it?” he asked. “I tell you 
you won’t need any file on the ” 

“Perhaps not,” interrupted Val, “but I want this 
to use before we go. Besides, we must get provisions 
to take, and a bag full of air, for there is no air on 
the moon.” 

“It’s a lie,” the engineer said bluntly. “I am 


VAL ENCOUNTERS A LUNATIC 267 


the Man in the Moon, and live on the moon. There 
is plenty of air there, and provisions to last forever.” 

“Yes, but we can’t go to-night,” returned Val, 
decidedly. 

“Why not?” 

“Because the moon isn’t full yet. It’s not large 
enough to hold us both. You can see that for your- 
self.” 

“That’s so,” returned the lunatic, turning and 
critically eyeing the moon. “I did not think of that. 
It would tip over, wouldn’t it?” 

“Well, I should say so. Tip over quicker than 
you could say Jack Robinson just the minute we 
got on it. It takes a full moon to hold two people.” 

“That’s a fact,” assented the engineer. 

“ And the best thing we can do,” added Val, quickly, 
“is to wait for it to grow larger.” 

“You are right,” said Marshall, quietly. “I am 
much obliged to you for mentioning the matter. 
Ugh, what if we had gone up to the moon and it 
had tipped over!” 

Having reached this temporary solution of the 
moon question, Val ventured another suggestion. 

“You’d better go back to bed.” 

“I suppose I had,” was the reply. Grasping at 
the idea with avidity the engineer turned and hur- 
riedly retraced his steps along the beach. 

Val went along shore in the opposite direction, 
making a complete circuit of the island before he at 
last entered Water St. through the old cellar. 


268 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


As he scratched a match to relight the lantern, 
there sounded a rumbling and crunching in the sea- 
ward end of the passage. A gust of dust-laden air 
swept up the tunnel, and blew out Val’s match. 

“Ow — ow — ow! Help! Help!’’ came in muffled 
tones from the direction of the barricade. 

In sudden dismay Val paused to listen. The 
outcry still continued. Carrying the lantern un- 
lighted for fear of being discovered, the young skip- 
per moved cautiously down the passage toward the 
scene of the disturbance. 


CHAPTER XXVIII 


VAL LOSES THE TENDER 

The tones of distress grew more distinct as Val 
advanced, but it was soon evident that the sufferer 
was not in the passage itself, though he might be 
outside the barricade. 

At last, when Val believed he must be near the 
bow of the tender, he came abruptly against an ob- 
struction. His hands informed him that the passage 
from top to bottom was completely blocked by a 
mass of dirt, stones, and broken timbers. 

“The roof has caved in on top of the tender,” 
muttered Val, in consternation, when he had investi- 
gated as thoroughly as possible without lighting the 
lantern, “and I believe it has entirely stopped up 
this end of the passage.” 

Such was the fact; and somewhere in the cave-in 
was the deck hand, for it was his startled tones that 
broke the silence of the night. 

“Ow — ow — ow! Will nobody help me? Help! 
Help!” 

Now on general principles Val would not have 
hesitated in succoring his enemy if he could have 
reached him; but as several cubic yards of debris 

269 


270 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


intervened, he thought it best to keep quiet and per- 
mit some one else to come to the rescue. 

Fenderson’s shouts indicated some pain, and more 
fright ; but he appeared to be in no danger of dying. 
Bruce presently came to his relief. 

“ What’s the matter with you?” he inquired 
roughly. “For heaven’s sake shut up that racket. 
One would think you were dying.” 

“The confounded cave has caved in and taken 
me with it,” snapped Fenderson, with pain in his 
voice. “Lend a hand here and help me roll this 
stone off my foot.” 

“Well, you won’t need to guard the cave any 
longer, or I miss my guess,” said Bruce, grimly, as 
he complied. “There don’t appear to be much 
cave left. Hope Brandon is in there now. He’ll 
be bottled up for one good while.” 

With which heartless remark he completed the 
release of the deck hand, and the pair moved beyond 
the range of Val’s ears. Then Brandon relighted 
the lantern, and surveyed the wreck. 

A whole section of the planked ceiling had col- 
lapsed, no doubt needing only the weight of the 
deck hand walking overhead to make it fall. 
The tender was invisible beneath several tons of 
sand, rocks, and rotten wood — buried so deeply 
that Val at once relinquished hope of ever digging 
it out; while the end of the passage was completely 
blocked. 

“It’s very clear I won’t use that boat to escape,” 


VAL LOSES THE TENDER 


271 


he thought ruefully, as he retraced his steps to the 
lair. “And by George!” he went on, in sudden 
alarm, glancing at the ceiling above him, “if that 
piece of tunnel caved in so easily, what is to hinder 
more of it falling down and burying me?” 

This was a startling thought, and coming on top 
of the day’s adventures, aroused him to instant action. 
Tired though he was, he did not rest until all his 
supplies and equipments were placed in the passage 
leading to the tower, which he had named “Tower 
St.,” where the roof was solid rock. And with the 
comforting assurance that nothing short of an earth- 
quake or dynamite could bring that down upon him, 
he lay down and slept. 

Val’s first act on rising late the following morning 
was to transfer his entire outfit to the space at the 
base of the stone tower. The collapse of the roof 
on Water St. had thoroughly alarmed him, and he 
determined to have as little to do with the planked 
portions of the tunnel as possible, and to use speed 
whenever compelled to pass through them. 

“Greatest wonder in the world,” he muttered, 
as he tugged the boxes and bundles through the 
aperture into the bottom of the tower, “that more 
of that pesky ceiling hadn’t given ’way before now, 
and buried me.” 

When everything was transferred, the space at the 
foot of the stairs was pretty well filled. Val next pre- 
pared breakfast, rejoicing in a cup of decent coffee. 

Presently repairing to the top of the tower, he 


272 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


found the sun well up, and the day breezy and de- 
lightful. Far on the northern horizon, too remote 
to signal, was a sail. He could discern no one on 
the island; and everything appeared to be quiet on 
the yacht; but from the wooded headland at the 
harbor entrance came the sound of an ax. Val 
decided that an effort was being made to replenish 
the “Sea Rover’s ” fuel supply. Certainly the craft 
needed more fuel if she was to make the trip to 
Rockland, or anywhere else, when the insurance 
claims had been adjusted. 

Despite the loss of the tender, Val had not given 
up all hope of escaping from the island. If he could 
but release Cal, together they might get possession 
of the yacht and steam away. Various schemes 
ran riot in Val’s mind, as he presently descended 
from hjs lookout, and threaded the tunnel gingerly 
houseward, with Cal’s release in mind. 

As he climbed the rickety ladder through the gloom 
— for he had extinguished the lantern, and left it in 
the passage below — a loud thump sounded on the 
platform above, and an object whizzed down past 
him, narrowly missing his head in its fall. 

For a moment he was seriously disposed to retreat. 
Was Bangs lying in ambush for him above? 

But a moment’s consideration decided the ques- 
tion in the negative. Bangs could not know of his 
coming; and if he did, he would hardly betray the 
fact by throwing missiles at him. He would rather 
wait till Val had climbed up, and then seize him. 


VAL LOSES THE TENDER 


273 


However, he fancied the darkness of the landing 
above was somewhat lightened; and when there 
came a second thump on the flooring, the brightness 
apparently increased. But nothing more fell past 
him, and taking heart, he climbed up to investigate. 

As the reader is aware, the tower was separated 
from the room in which Cal was confined by a rough 
wall of brick, evidently built long after the house 
itself. As VaPs head rose through the opening in 
the landing, he saw a hole the bigness of two bricks, 
a couple of feet above the floor. This was the source 
of the light, and through it he caught a glimpse of 
Carroll endeavoring to push in a third brick. 

“Halloo, Cal,” he whispered. 

“Is that you, Val?” was the guarded response, 
as the work on the wall ceased. 

“That’s what. Where’s Bangs, and the others?” 

“I think Bangs is down at the harbor on the yacht. 
Mike is downstairs, but he is liable to come in any 
minute. He has orders to visit me frequently.” 

“Before anything else, then, take this file,” said 
Val, presenting the engineer’s jack-knife through 
the hole. “I got it from Marshall, who, by the way, 
has gone crazy as a result of his accident. Put it 
in your pocket, and if we don’t succeed in getting 
you out before some one comes, use it to cut through 
the chain on your ankles.” 

“What sort of a place are you in?” asked Cal, 
eagerly taking the knife. 

“It is an old tower, walled up like a well, with a 


274 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


ladder for stairs. There is a landing here, and I 
judge there used to be an opening where this brick 
wall stands. But, Cal, I’ve had a picnic since I 
left the yacht.” 

“So Mike told me,” was the reply. “How did 
you manage to get out of the cave, with them watch- 
ing you, I want to know, and how did you get into 
the tower?” 

These questions had been puzzling Cal ever since 
he had first been apprised of his chum’s presence. 

“The island is an old pirate’s retreat,” was the 
response. “There is fully half a mile of under- 
ground passage, reaching from the head of the harbor 
to this tower one way, and across the island to another 
tower in the other direction. The cave was one 
outlet of the tunnel, but it caved in last night when 
the deck hand walked over it. 

“But we can’t stop to talk now; there’ll be time 
enough for that after you are out of this den. How- 
ever, there’s no use in trying to get you through this 
wall. I’ll pull you up to the garret through the 
scuttle, as we started to do last night.” 

“That will be better,” Cal acquiesced. “It will 
make less noise and take less time.” 

“So you think it will make less noise, do you?” 
inquired a sarcastic voice behind him. 

In consternation at this interruption, Cal arose 
from his stooping posture at the hole, and turned 
about. Major Bangs had entered the room noise- 
lessly and unnoticed. 


CHAPTER XXIX 


REGARDING A BRICK WALL AND A LADDER 

Carroll Morse backed up against the brick- 
work as Bangs confronted him with a sardonic smile 
upon his face. 

“Have you discovered a speaking tube?” inquired 
the Major. 

Cal retained his position against the hole, and 
said nothing. 

“ Come, are you deaf and dumb ? ” Bangs demanded 
roughly. “Get away from that wall. What are 
you doing there, and who are you talking to?” 

There was nothing to do but obey. 

“Just in the nick of time,” declared the Major, 
at the sight of the hole. “I see; trying to get away 
again, eh?” 

“None of your business,” muttered Morse, exas- 
perated at the turn affairs were taking. Further- 
more, he had come to so detest the very sight of the 
big rascal, that it was with difficulty he could con- 
tain himself when he was near. 

“So?” roared Bangs, in sudden rage, shaking 
a fist in Cal’s face. “We’ll make it our business, 
you’ll find. What’s in that hole?” 

“Go in and see,” was the tart rejoinder. 

275 


276 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


“Shut up,” the Major growled. He knelt down 
and peered into the aperture, keeping, however, at a 
safe distance. 

“I need a light,” he muttered presently, dissatis- 
fied with the meager result of his inspection; and 
in response to his summons, Mike brought a lantern. 
It was the one Val had knocked off the box two 
nights previously, and the broken chimney was still 
doing duty. 

While waiting for the light, the Major tried, un- 
successfully, to enlarge the hole with his hands. 
When the lantern came, he held it to the opening 
and tried to peer past into the darkness beyond. 
Unsuccessful in this — for the light was squarely 
in his eyes — he endeavored to shove the lantern 
through the hole, but the orifice was too small to 
admit it. 

“Get a hammer or a crowbar, or any old thing 
to knock these bricks out,” he commanded the 
Irishman, impatiently; and while the man went on 
his errand, put a hand in the hole and worked away 
in an attempt to loosen the masonry. Apparently 
he had forgotten that Cal had been conversing with 
any one on the other side of the wall. 

Presently he uttered an exclamation of surprise, 
and attempted to withdraw his hand. It would not 
come. Something held it fast. Before he could 
bring any strength to bear in an effort to release 
himself, for he was in a rather awkward position, 
the entire arm was suddenly pulled into the hole, 


A BRICK WALL AND A LADDER 277 


and his shoulder, and, indeed, his head, brought up 
with some force against the wall. 

“Let go,” he howled, making an attempt to push 
away with his feet and free arm; but some one on 
the other side — whose identity was no mystery to 
Cal — had seized Bangs’ arm in a grip of iron, and 
whenever the tension was released it was simply to 
bring the Major up against the wall again with 
greater violence, until the ruffian groaned in impo- 
tent rage, and Cal Morse felt like dancing a jig in 
his delight at his enemy’s discomfiture. 

Val Brandon was having a lively time at the 
Major’s expense, and did not feel the slightest scruple 
at causing his antagonist a little vexation, if vexation 
is the proper term to apply to the state of mind in 
which Bangs was soon placed by his unlooked-for 
predicament. 

He finally ceased pulling, and tried to grasp his 
antagonist; but Val had taken his grip on Bangs’ 
forearm, out of reach of his fingers, and the attempt 
was unsuccessful. Then began another desperate 
pulling and tugging, the Major nerving himself for 
a final struggle. 

Val grasped his opponent’s wrist with both hands, 
and braced his feet against the bottom of the wall, 
determined not to yield an inch; but something had 
to give, and at a mighty tug from the Major the foot 
of the wall, which was merely laid on the floor- 
ing, bulged out into the room. Bangs, suddenly 
released, sat down with a hard thump, while a small 


278 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


section of brickwork was forcibly projected into the 
room, and a pair of feet appeared to view behind it. 

Bangs arose, and there was fire in his eye. Appar- 
ently he had exhausted his stock of expletives, for 
he said nothing; but taking the wooden bar Mike 
brought, proceeded to demolish the wall in short 
order. 

The Major inserted the bar in the upper hole, 
intending to pry out the bricks beneath. But before 
he could do so a warning came from the other side 
of the wall. 

“Take that bar out.” 

The Major promptly consigned Val to a far dis- 
tant region, and began to pry. 

“I tell you to take that bar out,” reiterated Val. 
“If you tear down the wall, I’ll shoot every man 
that comes through.” 

Bangs’ wrath was a sight to behold; but he recol- 
lected that Brandon was able to make good his threat, 
and desisted from his onslaught. 

The reader will wonder why Val did not allow 
Bangs to play into his hands by completing the work 
of tearing down the wall. This done, it would appear 
he could have forced him, at the muzzle of his rifle, 
to surrender Carroll Morse; and so possibly he 
might, but for the fact that he had left the rifle at 
the bottom of the tower with the lantern. 

The very idea which we have outlined was in Val’s 
mind, when to his chagrin it occurred to him his 
arsenal was at the foot of the ladder. His threat, 


A BRICK WALL AND A LADDER 279 


therefore, was an empty one, but none the less effec- 
tive. 

Believing the attack on the wall would recommence 
as soon as Bangs heard him creaking down the rickety 
ladder; knowing, also, that the wall would not last 
long under the Major’s vigorous blows, he made the 
threat in order, if possible, to gain sufficient time to 
climb down and secure the rifle and return before a 
shower of bricks began falling down the tower, or 
his enemy could get into the tower and keep him 
from regaining the landing. 

The moment Bangs desisted from work, Val 
descended the ladder, in hot haste. It shook and 
creaked beneath him. When he was still some feet 
from the bottom there was a cracking and splintering, 
and the ancient affair suddenly collapsed beneath his 
weight. More quickly than it takes to relate it, 
Val was precipitated to the foot of the tower, while 
the fragments of the ladder fell upon him and forced 
him to the ground. 

For a moment he lay half stunned. His head 
had come in contact with the wall, and ached se- 
verely. He had fallen face forward, and the section 
of ladder above had come down and pinned him 
by the shoulders. Recovering himself presently, 
Val lifted off the weight that held him down, and 
arose painfully to his feet. For the moment all 
fight was knocked out of him; but when examination 
showed him little the worse for his tumble, his mind 
reverted to his enemies. 


280 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


With the ladder demolished, his errand after the 
rifle was futile. He was now unable to ascend to the 
landing, nor could the Major come down after him. 
The luck that enabled him to keep out of Bangs’ 
clutch seemed to desert him in his efforts to rescue 
Cal. More than ever he execrated the Major, the 
island, and the whole exasperating business. 

Sounds from above showed that operations on the 
wall had recommenced. To have a brick or two 
fall on his head would be unpleasant, to say the 
least, and Val stepped back into the passage. Thump 
following thump denoted the rapid demolition of 
the masonry. Presently a veritable avalanche of 
bricks came tumbling down; a bright light showed 
above, then a head peered over the edge of the 
opening in the landing. 

“Gone,” said Bangs, in disgust, vainly trying to 
pierce the gloom below. “There was some kind 
of a ladder, but that’s gone, too.” 

“What made all the racket we heard?” 

Another head appeared at the opening. The 
voice was that of the mate. 

“The scamp must have fallen down. Probably 
the ladder gave way under him. I hope he broke 
his infernal neck,” returned Bangs, vindictively. 

“How do you figure he got into the tower? That 
beats me,” asked Bruce, after a moment’s thought. 

“Don’t ask me,” retorted Bangs, impatiently. 
“This island is full of mysteries, and that fellow is a 
veritable jack-in-the-box. He pops up at every turn. 


A BRICK WALL AND A LADDER 281 


We think he is settled in one place, and presto! up 
he turns in another.” 

“Well, what do you propose to do about it?” 

“ Do ? What would you do ? ” was the acrid reply. 
“Do you want to risk your life by going down into this 
hole? I’m no great coward, but I know a whole 
hide when I have it.” 

The pair finished their inspection, and withdrew. 
No attack from that quarter seemed imminent — 
indeed, before one could be made, some means of 
descent must be found — for neither Bangs nor Bruce 
appeared anxious to venture below. 

After waiting a few moments longer, Val, with 
his head still buzzing from the effects of his fall, 
relighted the lantern and went back to the other 
tower, where he bathed his, bruises as best he could. 

“And so,” he soliloquized, “ends my attempt to 
rescue Cal by way of the underground passage.” 

If he had but known it, so ended all his commu- 
nications with his chum during their stay on Tower 
Island; but Val could not know that then. 


CHAPTER XXX 


A CURIOUS DOCUMENT 

Matters now settled down into a routine that 
was almost monotonous, if the term monotony could 
be applied to a condition that was fraught with 
personal danger and required constant alertness. 

The collapse of the ladder having cut off commu- 
nication with Cal, Val made no further attempt to 
release him, trusting rather to Cabs own activity — 
now that he was supplied with an implement for 
cutting his bonds — to release himself. 

The balance of that day Val spent at the tower, 
going twice, at noon and at night, through the tunnel 
to make sure no attempt at breaking in was in prog- 
ress. And this same inspection was made for the 
next two or three days with unfailing regularity, at 
morning, noon, and night, the trap in the cellar, 
the cave-in on Water St., and the blind trap in the 
house passage being the especial points of inspection. 

As the tender was buried beyond recovery, Val 
considered the feasibility of capturing the raft, and 
escaping from the island upon it. But such an idea 
was presently abandoned. It was true the raft was 
unsinkable, and fitted with oars, but it was unwieldy 
282 


A CURIOUS DOCUMENT 


283 


to handle, slow to navigate, and a sea of any size 
would surely sweep over and wash off his supplies, 
even if he were lucky enough to cling on himself. 

Such a thing as seizing the yacht single-handed 
he scouted at once. In the first place, he soon found 
that a regular scheme of guard and patrol had been 
inaugurated by his enemies. 

The engineer, whose vagaries, while perhaps harm- 
less, still made him a constant care, was kept under 
surveillance on the yacht, where, as a rule, either 
Bruce or the deck hand constantly remained. The 
raft, also, was never left unprotected for any length of 
time when on shore, and was usually hoisted aboard 
the yacht when not in use. 

Val concluded that Mike had been detailed to 
watch Carroll, since the Irishman appeared but sel- 
dom. The Major appeared occasionally, here and 
there, but never came near Val’s retreat. Yet 
Brandon became aware that he was kept under 
careful espionage, especially whenever a sail came 
in sight. 

This, however, did not happen so often as he could 
wish; and, to his great disappointment, no craft 
of any kind came near enough for him to signal. 

Neither was any attempt made to scale the tower, 
though Val lived somewhat in fear of it. But he 
knew Bangs would not be rash enough to attempt 
an assault by daylight, in the face of the rifle and 
two shotguns ; nor was he certain his enemy would be 
able to batter open the bolted iron trap at the top 


284 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


of the stairs should he succeed in scaling the tower 
under cover of darkness. 

Val slept in the midst of his supplies at the bottom 
of the tower, and each night before retiring carefully 
barricaded the entrance to the tunnel with boxes, 
not only as a sort of protection against attack from 
that quarter, but to shut out as much as possible the 
uncanniness that associated itself with everything 
pertaining to this ancient underground retreat. The 
long dark passage, stretching away into the earth, 
seemed like a huge speaking tube built to carry the 
messages of giants, and the deep silence that envel- 
oped everything like a pall, save when the pounding 
of the sea made itself both heard and felt, was at 
times broken by strange rumblings and ghostly 
whisperings, creakings, and crackings, that seemed 
to portend things unspeakable. 

It was all very well to be running his own ranch — 
almost anything was better than Bangs’ clutches — 
but the yachtsman soon decided that a very little of 
this mysterious place would answer for a lifetime. 

It was now that Val appreciated the bundle of 
novels which he had captured in the last boat load 
of effects. Bangs had made a very decent selection, 
and they helped him while away pleasantly many 
an hour which otherwise would have been most 
tedious. 

During the afternoon of the day the ladder col- 
lapsed, Val prepared a number of messages to throw 
into the sea. He had no bottles; but there were 


A CURIOUS DOCUMENT 


285 


a number of screw-cover tin cans, containing maple 
syrup, and the like. The contents of these he placed 
in tins previously emptied of fruit and meats, and 
with paper obtained from the blank fly leaves of the 
novels, prepared a letter for each can, reading as 
follows: — 


“Friday, July n, 189-. 

“To Whom this Can May Come: — 

“Carroll Morse and Percival Brandon, sons of H. J. Morse 
and Wm. L. Brandon of Stroudport, are kept prisoners on 
Tower Island, so-called, somewhere off the Maine coast. 

“A gang of five men, headed by Major E. J. Bangs of 
Stroudport, are keeping us here. Morse is a prisoner at the 
stone house. I escaped from Bangs some days ago, and have 
managed to keep out of his hands since, being in a stone 
tower on the northeast side of the island, but without means to 
get away. 

“Whoever finds this, please either send it to our parents, or 
send help to rescue us, and capture the gang who are engaged 
in carrying out a plot to defraud life insurance companies of 
five hundred thousand dollars. 

“Percival K. Brandon.” 

Six copies of this were made — this being the 
number of cans — a copy placed in each can, and 
the covers screwed tightly on. 

“Slim chance of any one picking them up in time 
to do us any good, I fear/’ he muttered, when, hav- 
ing thrown the cans far out into the water, he sat 
watching them bob on the swell; “but, at any rate, 
it makes me feel that I am doing all I can.” 

A day later another incident befell him. He upset 


286 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


the water pail and every drop ran out before the 
receptacle could be righted. 

To make another trip to the brook, risky though 
it was, seemed inevitable, until Val’s wits came to 
his aid, and suggested the possibility of striking a 
vein of water in the passage. To think was to act. 
With a box board sharpened to an edge at one end, 
he proceeded along Tower St., looking for indi- 
cations of dampness on the floor. In some places 
the sides of the tunnel were wet from water dripping 
through the crevices, but it passed off through the 
seams of the rock bottom and there was no way to 
accumulate it. Such places, therefore, Val passed 
by. But when he reached the junction of the pas- 
sage with Water St., he found the ground actually 
water-soaked, and began digging. When the depth 
of a foot was attained, water was already beginning 
to accumulate in the bottom of the hole. 

“I’ve struck ‘ile,’ sure enough,” he exclaimed 
enthusiastically. At that instant the board struck 
something much harder than sand. 

“ Struck bottom, too, I guess,” he continued, 
peering more closely into the cavity. “The soil 
must be thin here, so I’ll scrape the bottom clean, 
and let the hole fill up.” 

A surprise was in store. The rock bottom he 
expected to find was not there ; but in a few minutes 
he had pulled a small wooden keg from the sand, 
and was scanning it eagerly by the lantern light. 

“What can it be; pirate treasure?” he queried. 


A CURIOUS DOCUMENT 


287 


“ Pshaw! no. It’s too light to be filled with gold; 
but I believe we’ll investigate this phenomenon 
before digging farther.” 

And leaving the hole to fill with water, Val carried 
the keg to the tower, and smashed in an end with 
the hammer. 

Something had rattled inside the keg as Val car- 
ried it, and that something — the keg’s sole con- 
tents — proved to be a small copper can, securely 
sealed. With the can opener this was cut open, and 
a small piece of parchment was eagerly drawn 
forth. 

As, trembling with excitement, Val held this up 
to the lantern, he saw a number of lines of oddly 
fashioned characters traced in black ink, surmounted 
by the geometrical figure of a triangle. At the cor- 
ners of the triangle were roughly drawn a tower, 
a horse, and a fish, respectively; the first-named 
being at the lower right-hand, the horse at the lower 
left-hand, and the fish at the top, or apex. 

As for the characters composing the lines, they 
were unlike anything Val had ever seen before. 
Each was composed of a single vertical mark, with 
shorter marks extending to right or left horizontally, 
and occasionally from these short marks, or arms, 
other still shorter marks branched up or down. 
Some looked like capital “E,” others like “F” and 
“L”; but with these exceptions there was nothing 
that looked familiar. 

“What in the world can it be?” was Val’s per- 


288 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


plexed thought. “Is it a foreign language, a cipher, 
or what?” 

And I can assure you that for the next two days 
this document, so oddly placed in his hands, formed 
the object of much study and conjecture; but its 
meaning still continued to be a mystery. Val had had 
some trifling experience in constructing ciphers, as 
well as in solving them; but if this was one, it seemed 
based upon a principle of which he had never heard. 
When he scanned the characters, and counted those 
recurring most frequently, he was astonished to find 
more than a hundred different ones; and being 
accustomed, in his own attempts, to have each letter 
of the alphabet represented by one character, this 
multiplicity of symbols bothered him very much. 

Up to Sunday night, five days from the time he 
landed on Tower Island, and six since the “Spitfire” 
left Stevens’ Wharf, he had discovered no clue what- 
ever to the unraveling of the cipher — if it was a 
cipher, of which he was by no means certain. 

But on Sunday night something occurred that for 
the time drove all thought of the parchment out of 
his mind. He had finished his nightly tour of inspec- 
tion, and was about to build the box barricade and 
retire, when he was startled by an outcry in the tunnel. 

“Help! Help!” it said. “Oh, help! Will nobody 
help me?” And these ejaculations were inter- 
spersed with groans, which the passage brought to 
Val’s ears with startling distinctness. 

“Confound the measly luck!” he muttered, recov- 


A CURIOUS DOCUMENT 


289 


ering from his momentary consternation. “Some 
one has caved in another piece of the tunnel roof. 
I judge he fell inside, this time; and what under 
the canopy shall I do to get rid of him?” 

As the outcry continued, without coming nearer, 
the young skipper proceeded cautiously up Tower 
St., rifle handy, lantern extinguished, but ready 
for immediate relighting, without meeting any one 
or seeing anything until he emerged into the lair. 
Here was the source of the outcry. Some one seemed 
to be lying in the middle of the chamber, for the 
utterances came from that direction. 

“Who are you?” demanded Val, boldly. 

The groans ceased. For a second there was a 
silence; followed by the unlooked-for remark: — 

“I am the Man in the Moon.” 

The unexpected reply to VaPs question was such 
a relief to his overstrung nerves that he laughed 
almost hysterically. The engineer, though crazy, 
appeared harmless. It would have been different 
with the deck hand. 

Val lighted the lantern. Flat on his back lay the 
engineer, his hair and clothing disheveled, and 
covered with dirt and sand from head to toe. 

He looked up at Val listlessly as the lantern was 
lit, and resumed his groans. 

“How did you get here?” questioned Val. 

“Through the roof,” was the' response, and Mar- 
shall lifted an arm aloft to the shattered window 
overhead, through which he had fallen. 


290 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


“Of course,” said Val, catching sight of the aper- 
ture, and the shattered frame. “Stop groaning a 
minute, won’t you? Are you badly hurt?” 

The lunatic raised himself on one elbow and looked 
himself over. 

“No, I think not,” he replied uncertainly. Then 
rising unsteadily to his feet, he made an attempt to 
brush the dirt from his clothing, eyeing Val sharply 
as he did so. After a moment’s pause, he seemed to 
recognize the young skipper. Stepping to his side, 
he seized him by the arm. 

“I have been hunting for you. The moon is full 
to-night. It is time to start. Come.” 

“Where are you going?” 

“They have been getting wood to go for the dollars,” 
began the engineer, excitedly. “They have painted 
out her name and call her the ‘ Petrel,’ but she is the 
‘Sea Rover’ yet in spite of the paint, and the steam 
that would have sent her after the dollars shall drive 
her to the moon!” 

Val grasped the engineer by the shoulders and 
looked him in the eyes, as on the previous night. It 
seemed to be the only way to control the wandering 
mind. 

“Look here,” he exclaimed firmly, “what can you 
do with the ‘Sea Rover ’ ? Who is on board her?” 

Marshall’s eyes glowed craftily. 

“ Bangs and Bruce are at the house. Mike is guard- 
ing young Morse, and Fenderson is guarding me 
on the steamer, ha, ha, ha! Yes, he is guarding me 


A CURIOUS DOCUMENT 


291 


with his arms and legs tied so tightly that he cannot 
move an inch, — not an inch. A fine guard, ha, ha, 
ha! 

“ Sixty pounds of steam on the gauge — sixty 
pounds — and more coming, enough to drive her 
to the moon, — do you hear, — to the moon!” 

For a moment VaPs eyes swam. One word seemed 
to write itself on his brain; one word, and its letters 
spelled Escape. But still he hesitated. 

“Are you telling me the truth ?” he questioned 
eagerly. 

“The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the 
truth,” retorted the engineer, solemnly. “Come, 
we must start at once.” 

There was risk here, but Val decided to take it. 
If it was a trap to ensnare him, he might be cap- 
tured; but if the engineer spoke truthfully, what 
was to hinder their leaving the island, and leaving 
it at once? 

He conducted Marshall to the cellar exit, and in 
a few minutes both stood on the beach, where the 
raft was drawn up. 

The yacht was anchored but a short distance 
down the bay, and such good progress was made 
that within half an hour from the time the engineer 
had fallen through the roof, the pair stepped on the 
deck of the “Sea Rover.” 

Val clung tightly to his rifle when they went aboard, 
for he still had lingering fears that this episode might 
be a ruse to get him into the power of his enemies. 


292 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


But his fears were at once dissipated, for the deck 
of the steamer was entirely deserted. A muffled cry 
from a human throat sounded forward, as Val walked 
toward the pilot-house. 

“Hear him,” chuckled the engineer, in great 
delight. “The guard of the Man in the Moon, tight 
as a cork in a bottle.” 

“Where is he?” inquired Val. 

“In the galley. He’ll keep, my guard!” replied 
the lunatic, as he stepped into the engine room. 

Val entered the galley. There were no lights on 
the yacht, but the moonlight showed the deck hand 
on the floor, bound hand and foot, his face turned 
away. 

“Let me up,” he entreated. 

“Why should I let you up?” asked Val; “I don’t 
think you deserve any sympathy from me.” 

Fenderson gasped with surprise, and rolled pain- 
fully over until he could see his visitor. 

“Thunder!” he exclaimed. “What are you doing 
here?” 

“The engineer says we are going to the moon. 
At any rate we are going to leave Tower Island 
immediately, and you are going with us.” 

“The engineer is a lunatic, but if I hadn’t gone to 
sleep you wouldn’t have caught me in this fix.” 

“Probably not. I am glad you went to sleep,” 
returned Val, dryly. “Are you suffering?” 

“I have been in pleasanter positions, but sup- 
pose I shall have to stand it,” was the sullen reply. 


A CURIOUS DOCUMENT 


293 


Evidently Fenderson did not expect relief from the 
newcomer. 

“You will have to stand it, I fear,” retorted Val; 
“I think you have reached the end of your rope.” 

He examined the cords that confined the deck 
hand, finding them securely fastened. Then he 
went aft, and found the engineer piling fuel into 
the furnace, keeping time to his work with a wild 
refrain in which the words, “we are going to the 
moon” predominated. 

“Well, engineer,” asked Val, “are you ready to 
start?” 

“One hundred pounds of steam,” cried the luna- 
tic, exultantly, “and more coming — more coming.” 

“Then let’s start at once.” 

The raft was hoisted on deck. Then the steam 
windlass began revolving. Two minutes saw the 
anchor up, and as the yacht swung free, Val grasped 
the wheel and signaled to start. 

“Ting.” The propeller began to revolve, and as 
the ripples commenced to curl about the bow of the 
“Sea Rover,” Val seized the whistle cord and blew 
blast after blast, signaling defiance to Bangs and 
all his crew. The crazy engineer, leaping on deck, 
waved a hand to the luminary above his head, and 
shrieked out his wild refrain, “We are going to the 
moon, to the moon.” 

Slowly down the harbor crept the “Sea Rover,” 
for Val knew little regarding the depth of water. 
Remembering roughly the course taken by Bruce 


294 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


when he brought the yacht in, he adhered to it 
as closely as possible, and reached the outlet in 
safety. 

“Full speed ahead,” he signaled the moment the 
headland was cleared, and away skimmed the stanch 
craft, carrying Val Brandon on one of the wildest 
rides of his life. 


CHAPTER XXXI 


THE DECK HAND REPENTS 

Although he had not entered the wheel-house of 
the “Sea Rover,” alias “Petrel,” since the night he 
had fallen into Bangs’ hands, Val soon made him- 
self at home there. Lashing the wheel as soon as 
the yacht was fairly clear of the island, he rummaged 
about in the chart locker, where he found a full set 
of charts of the Atlantic coast line. After some 
calculation, he determined his position as about 
seventy miles from mainland, and not far from 
Penobscot Bay. 

Val was aware that at Rockland he could get tele- 
graphic communication with Stroudport, as well as 
the assistance of the law; in fact, everything needed 
to carry out the plans that now hastily formed 
themselves in his head. He determined to steam 
for that city forthwith. 

The moon was full and the sky without a cloud. 
A mighty sense of relief came over Val, as he gazed 
ahead over the moonlit sea, the sensation a man 
might feel when first released from prison and allowed 
once more to breathe free air. 

As the yacht sped on the young skipper kept a close 
watch for steamers or sailing vessels. If aid could be 

295 


296 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


obtained from such a source, he could return at once 
to Tower Island and do the work waiting there, 
without taking time to run up Penobscot Bay. 

Three things caus d him anxiety: when Bangs 
discovered that the yacht was gone, would he not 
try to leave the island? If so, the officers Val pro- 
posed to bring back would find their bird flown, and 
now he regretted the defiant salutes he had given 
with the whistle. 

Then, what if trouble should arise with the engi- 
neer? So long as Val humored his fancy, all was 
well; but if the yachtsman’s movements should clash 
with Marshall’s crazy notions about sailing to the 
moon, what would be the outcome? 

Thirdly: in such an event, could he hope for aid 
from the deck hand ? In fact, would it be safe to 
place any reliance upon that individual, if, in event 
of trouble with the engineer, aid from some source 
were needed? 

“I’ll cross no bridges till I reach them,” he finally 
decided, after cudgeling his brain with these prob- 
lems for some time. 

From time to time above the surge of the swell and 
the hiss of water at the bow, Brandon could hear 
the hoarse chant of the lunatic; and glancing back 
apprehensively on the occasion of an unusually loud 
outburst, he caught sight of Marshall gesticulating 
wildly. His voice sounded weird and uncanny as 
he raised it in his unceasing, monotonous song of, 
“We are going to the moon, to the moon.” 


THE DECK HAND REPENTS 


297 


However, so long as the boiler steamed well, he 
did not care much if the engineer sang and danced. 
He was, however, surprised to note the speed that 
Marshall was getting out of what he supposed to be 
green wood fuel. The yacht was certainly making 
thirteen knots; but he afterward ascertained that 
a quantity of dry wood had been found stored at 
the old mansion on the island, and thus the mystery 
was cleared up. 

At the end of half an hour the island was nothing 
but a dark blur on the water astern. Despite the 
uncertainties of his position, Val was beginning to 
be lulled into a belief that all would run smoothly 
throughout the trip, when the engineer suddenly 
darted from the engine room, gazed doubtfully 
aloft at the moon, and started on a run for the 
pilot-house. Hearing Marshall’s footsteps hurrying 
along the deck, Val shut and locked the wheel-house 
door just as the lunatic’s head appeared at the top 
of the side ladder. 

Clambering to the upper deck, the engineer yanked 
at the door; but of course it failed to open. 

“Let me in,” he demanded. 

“What do you want?” inquired Val, with bold 
front. “Isn’t she running all right?” 

“Let me in,” reiterated the engineer, running his 
fingers through his hair till it stood erect, and gave 
him a wild aspect, while his eyes gleamed brightly 
and shifted constantly in their sockets. 

“You are off the course,” he said excitedly. 


298 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


“You aren’t steering to the moon; you are steering 
away from it.” 

Val had expected this complaint, and was prepared 
for it. 

“ Go back to your engine,” he admonished. “I’m 
steering this yacht, and know what I am about. 
You can manage the engine, but you don’t under- 
stand steering.” 

“But I tell you you are not steering to the moon,” 
howled the engineer, frenziedly, yanking at the door- 
knob as though his life depended on his getting into 
the pilot-house. “Let me in; I’ll show you how.” 

“Look here, Mr. Man in the Moon, there is one 
thing I know how to do, and that is to steer this 
yacht, and I am going to do it. I have gone to the 
moon just as many times as you have, and you can’t 
tell me anything about getting there. Now what 
are you kicking about?” 

“You are going away from the moon instead of 
toward it,” remonstrated Marshall, somewhat sub- 
dued by the force in Val’s tones. “You must turn 
the yacht’s head about, I say.” He stopped tugging 
at the door-knob, for he found it did not do the 
slightest good. His was a strange mania; on every- 
thing but the moon topic he appeared now to be 
fairly rational. But when once his fancy began to 
run riot upon that subject, all else in his mind was 
obscured. There seemed to be only one way to 
control him, and that was by firm, decisive word 
and action. 


THE DECK HAND REPENTS 


299 


“You would turn the yacht’s head about, would 
you?” queried Val. 

“Of course,” returned the lunatic, instantly. 
“Turn her around right off. We will never get to 
the moon this way.” 

“That is where you are out of your reckoning,” 
said Val, decidedly. “Look here,” he went on 
firmly, “don’t you see that if we put about and run 
for the moon, that by the time we get to the eastern 
horizon she will have sailed right over our heads, 
and left us behind?” 

The engineer gazed up at the moon, and then 
looked doubtfully toward the east. 

“But if we run to the west,” continued the helms- 
man, “we will meet the moon by the time she gets 
down to the western horizon, and won’t get left. 
Go back to your engine; I can steer this yacht!” 

The crazy man went slowly aft, his head bowed in 
thought. He disappeared in the engine room, and 
Val heard no more from him for some time. 

There was an adjustable bunk on the starboard 
side of the wheel-house; this Val swung down from 
the wall, and taking a half hitch around the spokes 
with a piece of rope, lay back at his ease. 

But in less than two minutes his ease was dis- 
turbed by a noise in the galley beneath; there was 
pounding and thumping, interspersed with utterances 
in the voice of the deck hand. 

This disturbance continued, until Val’s curiosity 
got the upper hand and he decided to investigate; 


300 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


but as it would not do to leave the wheel for any 
length of time while the yacht was running at that 
gait, he signaled the engineer to slow to half speed, 
and then hailed him through the speaking tube. 

“I have some calculations to make regarding our 
trip to the moon, and I can’t do it while the yacht 
is running at this speed. Shut her down a little. 
I’ll soon be through.” 

The lunatic gave a hoarse answer, and presently 
the speed of the “Sea Rover” became appreciably 
less. Val waited to see if the engineer proposed to 
investigate his feigned work of calculation, but he 
did not leave the engine room. There was nothing 
visible on the water ahead; and Brandon lashed 
the wheel, stepped to the deck, and entered the 
galley. 

“Well,” he began, “what do you want?” 

The deck hand had managed to roll himself about 
until his feet were against the forward bulkhead. 
Then, laying on his back, he had doubled up his 
knees — his ankles were of course securely tied 
together — thus raising his feet, and by vigorously 
doubling up and undoubling his knees had succeeded 
in making quite a racket on the woodwork with his 
shoes. 

“I want to get up,” he replied in a decided tone. 

“I think you are safer where you are. If that is 
all you have to say, I’ll thank you to keep still. I 
have enough on my hands without you.” 

“Look here,” exclaimed Fenderson, earnestly, 


THE DECK HAND REPENTS 


301 


“I know I have treated you mean, but I am sorry 
for it; I am, really.” 

“Your repentance is rather tardy,” responded 
Val, “and for a chap who has done his best to kill 
me, I think it is decidedly ill-timed. You should 
have felt sorry before.” 

“What I did was by Bangs’ orders,” pleaded 
Fenderson, in extenuation of his conduct. “He 
said that if you got away it meant state’s prison for 
us all.” 

“And so you were willing to add to the first crime 
by a worse one,” retorted Val. “I am afraid it will 
go hard with you when we get ashore.” 

“Where are you heading?” asked the deck hand, 
eagerly. 

“It is none of your business, but as you will find 
out sooner or later anyway, I will tell you we are 
making for Rockland.” 

“You will have trouble in getting there.” 

“I expect to,” retorted Val, shortly. “Why?” 

“The engineer thinks you are steeringfor the moon. 
He is as crazy as a loon. Do you think he will let 
you steer for shore, when he thinks you ought to 
steer for the moon? Not much.” 

“What has all this to do with you?” demanded 
Brandon. “The engineer will give me trouble 
enough, I’ll allow; do you think I’m fool enough 
to let you loose to help him?” 

“You are too hard on a fellow,” exclaimed the 
deck hand, deprecatingly. “I hoped you would do 


302 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


the fair thing by me, and I could be of a good deal 
of help to you, but it doesn’t seem to be any use to 
talk with you.” 

“The fair thing!” ejaculated Brandon, in a vexed 
tone. “You talk to me about the fair thing — you 1 
It strikes me a term in the state’s prison would be 
about the fair thing for you.” 

“Come, now,” pleaded the deck hand. “Just 
listen a minute. I was hired as deck hand and fire- 
man to go on this steamer to an island on the Maine 
coast; I didn’t know there was anything shady in 
the job; I didn’t know any of the rest of the crowd 
from Bangs down till Bruce hired me, and I went 
aboard in Stroudport. When you and Morse were 
brought aboard, that looked funny; but what was 
I to say against it ? I wasn’t running the steamer. 

“They used you pretty well on the ' Rover.’ I 
couldn’t kick ’cause they abused you, could I? 
for they didn’t. And if I had kicked, what good 
would it have done? 

“Of course, by this time, I knew there was some- 
thing shady going on; but I didn’t know what, and 
I don’t know now. 

“We reached the island, and you got away. I 
was glad of that for a while, and wished the other 
chap had gone too, until Bruce told me that if you 
got away to peach on them, it would mean the jug 
for the whole of us. 

“I asked him what he meant. 'Don’t try to be 
innocent!” he said to me. 'If you’re nabbed, it will 


THE DECK HAND REPENTS 


303 


go as bad with you as the rest of us.’ We near had 
a fight over it. I swore I wouldn’t do another 
smitch of work while the yacht was at the island; 
but I had to, for I had to have grub, and they had 
all of it — — ” 

“Not quite all,” interrupted Brandon, who was 
getting interested in spite of himself. 

“ You did a neat little job, I’ll admit,” said Fender- 
son, with a laugh. “But all the time I was only 
acting under Bangs’ and Bruce’s orders, for they 
forced me to obey, partly by threatening to starve 
me out if I didn’t, and again by half convincing me 
that I stood in for as big a punishment as the rest 
of them if we were caught. I ain’t any saint,” con- 
fessed the deckhand, “and I know precious little 
about law on sea or land; but I ain’t as black as I’m 
painted, and I wish I could make you believe it.” 

Val Brandon was puzzled. Should he accept 
the statement of the deck hand, and give him his 
freedom, temporarily at least? The circumstances 
were against Fenderson, in that his apparently frank 
confession might be forced from him by his knowl- 
edge that the yacht was headed for Rockland, and 
he would soon be in the hands of the law unless 
he made some move on his own behalf. Was 
his repentance real or simulated? This was the 
puzzler. 

“If you are blameless, why did you try to shoot 
me on the tower?” asked Val, presently, after turn- 
ing the matter over in his mind for a moment. 


304 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


“I didn’t,” replied the deck hand, promptly, “I 
only wanted to scare you into getting down.” 

“It looked that way when you riddled my hat with 
bullet holes,” returned Val, sarcastically. 

“Look here,” said Fenderson, with some warmth, 
“we aren’t getting ahead very fast. You showed 
that hat for a ruse. I knew you weren’t fool enough 
to have your head in it. A baby would have better 
sense, and you know it. I fired at it just to scare you 
by showing a little marksmanship ; for I can handle a 
pistol, if I do say it.” He spoke with some pride. 
“But you fooled me,” he added, “for I was so anx- 
ious to show I could hit, that I emptied my revolver, 
and gave you a chance.” 

Val said nothing. He was trying to fix upon a 
course of action. 

“Now, look here,” continued Fenderson, persua- 
sively. “We can make a bargain right here. You 
let me up. I’ll help you keep the engineer in con- 
trol, and take the yacht wherever you say. When 
we get ashore, if you want to hand me over to the 
police, I won’t say a word.” 

“I’ll think about it,” replied Val, turning to the 
door, for he wanted to see how the “Sea Rover” was 
getting along, and felt he had left her alone long 
enough. 

“Don’t do that. Let me up.” 

“Not now, I will decide presently what to do.” 

“I tell you you can’t handle the engineer,” began 
the deck hand, warningly. 


THE DECK HAND REPENTS 


305 


At that moment Val was surprised to feel an 
increase in the speed of the yacht, which was indi- 
cated by the quickened throbbing of the propeller. 
The throttle had again been opened wide, and the 
yacht was forging on at top speed. 


CHAPTER XXXII 


THE ENGINEER TAKES THE WHEEL 

As Val abruptly left the galley, by the port door, 
he heard hasty footsteps on the starboard deck. 

Up the ladder he hurried, to the upper deck, his 
motions accelerated by sounds that indicated a like 
action on the part of the engineer on the opposite 
side. But it was a losing race. 

When Val gained the upper deck the engineer 
was at the wheel, and the yacht presently gave a 
violent lurch as the helm went hard down. His mad 
moon song rang out frenziedly as he grasped the 
spokes and brought the yacht about until the orb of 
night hung fairly over the bow. 

“Ha, ha, ha, we are going to the moon! I will 
steer her there myself.’ ’ 

As Val entered the wheel-house, Marshall caught 
sight of him. 

“Get out of here,” he said, turning fiercely on the 
yachtsman. “You’re a traitor. You didn’t steer 
toward the moon at all. You would have run us 
ashore. I will steer, and run the engine, too. Go 
away, or I’ll throw you overboard.” 

Thus had the situation on board the “Sea Rover” 
suddenly changed. Val had been caught napping, 

306 


THE ENGINEER TAKES THE WHEEL 307 


and it looked as though he would have a tussle to 
get the upper hand again. 

“You are mistaken,” said Val, in a firm voice, 
“you did not give me time to make my calculations.” 

The engineer groped around in the dusk of the 
wheel-house, and brought Val’s rifle into view. 

“Do you see that?” he said excitedly. “That 
is for traitors. I am going to the moon, and I shall 
steer and run the engine, too. I’ll shoot you and 
drop you overboard pretty soon. The Man in the 
Moon will have no traitors.” 

Percival Brandon backed out of the wheel-house, 
and hurried down the port ladder. 

At this rate the madman might have them ashore, 
and that perhaps within the hour, for the yacht was 
getting up among the islands. 

It is true the yacht’s course had been altered, but 
the moon’s position had also materially changed, 
and to bring it over the bow the engineer had headed 
the yacht about south, in a direction where the chart 
showed several islands. 

“I’ll settle this fuss double quick,” thought Val, 
stepping along to the engine room. “Shut off 
steam, and he’ll not reach the moon in a hurry.” 

But the port door of the engine room was locked. 
The small circular window on that side was fastened 
as well. There was a door leading into the engine 
room from the saloon, but this proved to be fastened 
from the engine room side. So also were the star- 
board door and window. The lunatic had apparently 


308 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


laid his plans with great cunning. The doors were 
of stout oak and did not look as though they could 
be easily forced. The windows were too small to 
pass through, if forced open, for the engine room 
was mainly lighted by a skylight. Might not this 
be unfastened? 

Clambering hastily to the upper deck abaft the 
stack, Val would have had his hands on the skylight 
in a moment more. But there came a cry from the 
wheel-house; Val glanced forward past the smoke- 
stack just in the nick of time. Flat on the deck be- 
hind the stack he dropped as a bullet from the rifle 
whizzed astern. It was intended for him. 

There was nothing to do but to descend to the 
lower deck, if he could. The smoke-stack did not 
afford sufficient protection to enable him to work at 
the skylight, nor to open it if it were unfastened, for 
the engineer had a window at each side of the rear 
end of the wheel-house, which gave him a range of 
the upper works except immediately behind the stack. 
Seizing a favorable opportunity, Val leaped to the 
lower deck before the engineer could again take aim. 

It was now apparent to Brandon that he would 
have to test the deck hand’s sincerity, whether he 
wished to or not. Anything was preferable to 
being at the mercy of the lunatic, and together 
Fenderson and himself could probably force the 
engine room, and shut off steam. 

Val crept forward on the starboard side, keeping 
close in the shadow of the upper works. The engi- 


THE ENGINEER TAKES THE WHEEL 309 


neer was unused to steering, though he had held 
the wheel before, and the yacht had gotten her nose 
around a trifle to the west, so the starboard side was 
more in shadow. 

Val glanced uneasily ahead as he moved forward. 
He could not get an unobstructed view of the horizon, 
for the “Sea Rover’s ” bow was too high; but alarmed 
as he was, what he did see filled him with still greater 
alarm. Ahead, nearly dead ahead, so far as he could 
determine, a dark mass lay on the water. But this 
was not all. As he looked, this dark mass was 
suddenly swallowed in a cloud of low-lying mist that 
had swept up unnoticed from the south. Misty 
streamers flew overhead. A dense fog was hurrying 
down on them, and there was land almost under 
their bows. 

Val rushed into the galley. Closing the door after 
him, he stepped to the deck hand’s side. 

“Have you a revolver?” he asked. 

“Yes,” responded the prostrate man. “Let me 
up and I will give it to you.” 

“Will you swear to do as I tell you?” hastily 
asked Val. 

The deck hand answered in the affirmative. 

Val rolled him over and secured the revolver from 
a hip pocket. Then he whipped out his knife, 
and in a moment the late captive was sitting up, 
rubbing his wrists and ankles. 

“What’s up?” eagerly asked the deck hand, still 
rubbing. 


310 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


“The engineer has gotten possession of the wheel. 
He also has a rifle. He has left the engines going at 
full speed, and fastened every door and window to 
the engine room.” 

“ Oh, well,” returned the deck hand, in a reassuring 
tone, “the steam will go down if he doesn’t tend 
the fire. When he goes aft, we can get into the 
wheel-house.” 

“We are heading straight for an island, there is 
a dense fog coming down on us, and if we do not stop 
inside of five minutes we will be ashore, heaven knows 
where. We must force one of the engine room 
doors.” ^ 

With what alacrity he could muster, Fenderson 
came to Val’s aid. He could scarcely stand up, so 
long had his limbs been confined, but the sincerity 
of his repentance seemed apparent in the effort he 
made to obey Val’s summons. Hastily repairing to 
the saloon, together they threw their weight against 
the oaken engine room door. It cracked and creaked, 
but did not yield. 

“Again,” commanded Val. “Give it to her.” 

Once more they surged against the door, without 
starting it, and again and again, with the same 
result. It was well made, and, better perhaps than 
the builders would have believed, it stood the sud- 
den pressure brought against it. 

“No use,” groaned Fenderson, at last, after several 
valuable minutes had been expended in fruitless 
effort. “Let’s try the other doors.” 


THE ENGINEER TAKES THE WHEEL 311 

But Val was not at the end of his resources. A 
heavy table occupied the center of the saloon. It 
was lashed to the floor by fastenings which could be 
severed in a moment, as Val had noticed while on 
his involuntary voyage to the island. 

“Here,” he exclaimed, “help me cut this table 
loose. We’ll use it for a battering-ram.” 

The deck hand saw the utility of the idea at once. 
The table was quickly released from its fastenings. 
Turning it on its side, Val stepped between the now 
horizontal legs, and seized the upper one nearest the 
engine room door. The deck hand grasped the 
upper, one of the other pair. 

“Back up to the after bulkhead,” instructed Val. 
“Then let her go ahead for all you are worth.” 

After a short back up to gain momentum, the end 
of the table went ahead with a resistless bang against 
the door. It yielded suddenly, and Val almost fell 
over the table leg. 

Recovering himself, he scrambled through the 
opening, grasped the throttle, and shut off steam. 
Then throwing over the reversing bar, he admitted 
steam once more into the cylinders, until the pro- 
peller was churning full speed astern; but the screw 
had revolved only a fraction of a minute on the 
reverse, when there was a grating under the yacht’s 
keel, then the shock of sudden stoppage. 

The “Sea Rover” was ashore. 


CHAPTER XXXIII 


ON THE SEARCH 

Thursday morning the Harpsboro steamer landed 
a bright-looking young man, clad in a navy blue 
yachting suit, at its Stroudport wharf. 

The youth in question made his way rapidly up 
the dock, and directed his steps up Exchange St. 
He had not gone far when, in his eagerness, he 
plumped squarely into a gentleman going in the 
opposite direction. 

“Halloo, Mr. Brandon,” the youth exclaimed, * 
instantly recovering himself. 

The gentleman, who regained his equilibrium 
with a muttered apology, glanced at the speaker, and 
instantly grasped his hand. 

“How do you do, Hartwell? Why, I supposed 
you were on a cruise with the boys.” 

“On a cruise with the boys?” echoed the other in 
astonishment. “They haven’t gone, have they?” 

“Went Tuesday morning,” declared Mr. Brandon. 
“I supposed they were going to call for you.” 

“So they were,” returned Farleigh Hartwell, a 
look of perplexity wrinkling his brow. 

“And you haven’t seen them?” 

“Neither hide nor hair of ’em.” 

312 


ON THE SEARCH 


313 


“ That’s mighty funny,” was Mr. Brandon’s 
response. “Come to my office and we’ll just talk 
this matter over.” 

Mr. Brandon’s office happened to be close at hand, 
and the two were presently seated therein, and gazed 
anxiously at each other for a minute without speaking. 

“You don’t suppose ” began both in the 

same breath. 

They were interrupted by a knock at the door. 
When Mr. Brandon opened the door, he was con- 
fronted by the Stroudport City Marshal; in response 
to Mr. Brandon’s invitation the Marshal entered. 

“I will trouble you but a moment,” said the offi- 
cial, pleasantly. “I merely wish to know the ad- 
dress of your son and his friend Carroll — um — 

um ” He paused and delved into an inside 

pocket and brought out to inspection a paper. “His 
friend, Carroll Morse,” he concluded. 

Mr. Brandon eyed the paper apprehensively. 
Hartwell’s unlooked-for appearance in town had 
prepared him for almost anything in the way of 
news. 

“What do you want of them?” he quickly 
demanded. 

“Read the paper for yourself,” replied the City 
Marshal, proffering the sheet. “We received it by 
mail Tuesday forenoon.” 

As the reader will surmise, it was the letter that 
Val and Cal had mailed to the police on the morn- 
ing of their departure. An expression of relief came 


314 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


over Mr. Brandon’s features as he read it, but he 
answered in some perplexity: — 

“Well, I don’t make head or tail of it.” 

“Neither did we, at first,” replied the City Mar- 
shal, “but subsequent developments have proven 
that the remains of a recently deceased man have 
been removed from Evergreen Cemetery, and we 
surmise that this is a clue to the disposition of the 
body. For this reason I want to communicate with 
your son and his friend. Where are they?” 

“I don’t know,” said Mr. Brandon, shaking his 
head dubiously. 

At this juncture came another knock on the office 
door, and in filed Sumner Parker’s father, Carroll 
Morse’s father, and old Captain Bucklin, who had 
given Sumner some instructions on navigation, and 
loaned him the carrier-pigeons. 

The apprehensive look on Mr. Brandon’s face 
seemed reflected in the countenances of the new- 
comers. The old Captain muttered under his breath, 
as he took a seat: — 

“The devil’s to pay. Yes, sir. I say the devil’s 
to pay.” 

“What’s that?” questioned Mr. Brandon, catching 
Captain Bucklin’s utterance. “ What’s the matter ? ” 

“It means,” burst out Mr. Parker, who could 
hold in no longer, “that some rascal has stolen your 
boy’s yacht and carried my son off in it.” 

“How do you know this?” demanded Mr. Bran- 
don, rising excitedly to his feet. “I have been 


ON THE SEARCH 


315 


apprehensive that something was wrong because our 
boys did not call at Harpsboro for Farleigh Hart- 
well, here,” he indicated that young gentleman, “as 
they planned to do. What have you heard?” 

“They didn’t sail the yacht beyond Pod Island,” 
exclaimed Mr. Morse, sententiously. “ Give him the 
letter, Parker. Let him see what he makes of it.” 

Mr. Parker fished a piece of paper from his pocket 
and handed it to Mr. Brandon. 

“The greatest outrage!” he muttered in a choking 
tone, “the greatest outrage ever perpetrated!” 

The paper was the letter Sumner had sent by car- 
rier-pigeon. Mr. Brandon read it carefully through 
and passed it to Hartwell. 

“That explains where Sumner and the yacht 
are, but where are Val and Cal?” he said in deep 
anxiety. 

“Where are the pictures?” questioned Farleigh 
Hartwell, who had finished perusing the note. 
“When did you get this letter? And what’s this 
nonsense about my broken arm, I’d like to know?” 

“We just left the pictures at a photographer’s 
to be printed,” was Mr. Morse’s reply. “The 
pigeons reached the Captain’s place an hour ago, 
and we are here in consequence.” 

At this instant came another rap on the door. In 
came Manager Culverson of the Liberty Mutual. 

“Good morning, everybody,” he exclaimed in 
a hearty voice, not noticing for the moment the 
general air of gloom that pervaded the room. 


316 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


“Well, it seems our boys are distinguishing them- 
selves on their yachting cruise,” he went on cheerily. 
“Have you seen it?” 

“Seen what?” asked Mr. Parker, quickly. 

Manager Culverson produced a copy of the 
Stroudport News and read aloud the following 
item: — 

“Hope Island, July 9. 

“ Prompt assistance at a critical moment saved Mr. Cheney 
Killen, a boarder at the Willows, from a watery grave last 
night. 

“Mr. Killen went out canoeing after supper and lost his way 
in the gloom. His canoe was accidentally upset, and being but 
an indifferent swimmer, and encumbered with clothing, his 
situation became desperate. After drifting for some time, 
clinging to the upturned canoe, his cries finally attracted the 
notice of the crew of a yacht anchored near. One of the 
yachtsmen, whose name we understand is Parker, rescued 
Mr. Killen from his dangerous plight.” 


“When is that dated, did you say?” Mr. Brandon 
asked, after the Manager had finished. “July 9?” 

“That would make the rescue take place Tuesday 
night,” went on Hartwell. “The yacht must have 
been stolen after Sumner got back to her. But where 
were Val and Cal all this time?” 

It was now Manager Culverson’ s turn to ask ques- 
tions. Briefly he was made acquainted with the 
facts at hand — that the yacht and all three of her 
crew had apparently reached Pod Island in good 
order on Tuesday night, and had anchored there; 
that the subsequent adventures of Sumner and the 


ON THE SEARCH 


317 


yacht were outlined in the letter that had come by 
pigeon post; but that nothing was known of Val 
and Cal’s whereabouts. 

With opening eyes Mr. Culverson perused the 
pigeon post letter. 

“The boy’s having a hard time,” was his comment. 
“ Can it be possible he actually saw the Major burn 
up ? We need him at the inquest. 

“Say,” and he rose to his feet. “The boat for 
Hope Island leaves in ten minutes. I’m going down 
to attend the inquest on the death of one of our big 
policy-holders, who died there Tuesday night under 
rather peculiar circumstances — the identical Major 
Bangs that Sumner mentions. Now why don’t we 
all go down together and see this Cheney Killen ? I 
believe he can throw light on this matter.” 

An hour later the entire party, barring the City 
Marshal, landed at Hope Island. The house known 
as the Willows was near the steamer landing. Y oung 
Killen was pointed out to them lounging in a ham- 
mock. 

“Excuse me,” exclaimed Mr. Parker, approaching 
the occupant of the hammock, followed by his friends, 
“but is this Mr. Cheney Killen?” 

The young man replied that it was. 

“Are you the person who was rescued from the 
water on the night of the 8th, by a young fellow 
named Parker?” went on Mr. Parker, in suppressed 
excitement. 

“Well I should rather say I am,” ejaculated young 


318 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


Killen, with energy, “ and a mighty good job the chap 
did for me when he hauled me out. Why, what’s 
the trouble?” 

Cheney Killen sat up as he looked around on 
the group of anxious-faced men, and realized that 
something was the matter. 

“What was this Parker’s first name?” demanded 
Mr. Morse, anxiously. “Where did he come from, 
and was he in a yachting party?” 

“I’ve been trying to think of his first name ever 
since,” said young Killen, regretfully, “but I cannot 
remember it. It was Somers, or something like 
’that.” 

“Sumner,” substituted Mr. Parker, delightedly. 

“That’s it, that’s it,” returned Cheney Killen. 
“Sumner Parker, of Stroudport, stopping at Peaked 
Island for the summer, and on a yachting cruise 
in the sloop ‘ Spitfire.’ That was what he told 
me.” 

“ But do you know what became of him, his chums, 
or the yacht?” 

It was Manager Culverson who now took up the 
thread of interrogation. 

“I suppose they sailed on their cruise.” 

“Well, they didn’t,” said Mr. Culverson. “The 
yacht was stolen that night, with Parker on board of 
her. There doesn’t seem to be the slightest clue to 
the whereabouts of his two companions, the sons 
of Mr. Brandon and Mr. Morse, my friends here, 
unless you can tell us something. So far as we can 


ON THE SEARCH 


319 


ascertain, you are the last person in this vicinity who 
saw anything of the party.” 

Cheney Killen uttered an exclamation of astonish- 
ment. 

“How do you know the yacht was stolen?” he 
asked excitedly. 

“Got a message from Parker by carrier-pigeon,” 
chimed in Mr. Morse. “Won’t you please tell us 
exactly what happened the night you were rescued?” 

Cheney Killen outlined the story of his mishap. 

“ Parker was the only one aboard when I was there,” 
he said in the midst of his story. “He told me about 
the plan of their cruise while I was shaking off the 
effects of my chill; but said that he was afraid that 
something serious had happened. A steam-yacht 
had run in a little while before and told him that one 
of their party, a young man that they were going to 
pick up at Harpsboro, Harley, I guess the name 
was ” 

“Hartwell,” corrected that person, eagerly, “that’s 
myself.” 

“You!” exclaimed Killen, incredulously. “You 
don’t look as though you had just broken an arm.” 

“Broken an arm?” queried Hartwell. “Sum 
mentioned my broken arm in his pigeon message, but 
it’s all Greek to me.” 

Killen continued. 

“This steamer had sent in a boat to tell them you 
had been picked up in the channel, clinging to an 
upset boat, with an arm broken. Parker’s two 


320 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


mates went aboard of her, and had not returned 
when I was on the ‘ Spitfire.’ Parker believed the 
yacht had gone to take you to Beeg Island for a 
doctor.” 

“And I haven’t been away from Harpsboro for 
four days until this morning, 55 declared Farleigh Hart- 
well, in deep wonder, “and never broke an arm in 
my life. 55 

“Do you know the steamer’s name? 55 It was 
Cal’s father who asked this. 

Killen was obliged to reply in the negative. 

“This is the second chapter of the mystery, I 
fear,” said Manager Cul verson, looking around at 
his gloomy companions after Cheney Killen had 
concluded. “I think we had better go over to Pod 
Island next, and see if there is any clue to be found 
there.” 

This seemed an eminently proper thing to do — in 
fact, not one of the party would have dreamed of 
going back to Stroudport without first making a 
thorough inspection of the island in question. 

Cheney Killen, who by this time was almost as 
interested in the matter as the others, secured a 
large dory, and the seven went ashore half an hour 
later in the very cove where the “Spitfire” had 
anchored on the night of the 8th ; but, needless to say, 
there was no trace of the party there. 

For some time they tramped over the island, 
looking everywhere, and hallooing at intervals, as 
though they expected an answer from the yachtsmen. 


ON THE SEARCH 


321 


The coroner from Harpsboro, who had come over to 
conduct the inquest on the charred remains found 
in the ruins of the cabin, and some of the members 
of his jury, assisted in the search, which presently 
ended without the slightest clue by which the mystery 
could be unraveled. 

“I am convinced there is nothing here,” was the 
conclusion reached by Mr. Brandon, finally, as the 
searchers came together at the cove. And, loath as 
they were to acknowledge it, it voiced the convictions 
of his companions. 

Manager Cul verson retaining Sumner’s letter in 
his possession, was left to attend the deliberations of 
the inquest, while the others returned to Hope Island. 
The steamer landed them in Stroudport at four 
o’clock, young Killen having now become so excited 
over the matter that he insisted on accompanying 
the party to the city to see the pictures which the 
photographer had hoped to have printed and 
finished by the latter part of the afternoon. 

“I have seen a good deal of the Maine coast,” he 
explained. “ Possibly I may be able to recognize 
the locality from the pictures.” 

The films had been printed when the seven anx- 
ious ones reached the studio. 

But it was not Cheney Killen who identified the 
locality in which Sumner Parker had been driven 
ashore in the “Spitfire.” When Captain Bucklin 
had adjusted his glasses carefully and fixed his eyes 
on the diminutive photographs the artist brought 


322 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


out, he looked once, and once only, before he 
exclaimed, in a tone of conviction: — 

“Do I know that island? Well, I rather reckon 
I do.” He held up the picture that Sumner had 
taken of the island with the huge stone upon it, near 
that on which he went ashore. 

“That’s Stone Horse Island, down near Codville,” 
he went on impressively. “An’ I have good reason 
to remember it, for twenty-one years ago come No- 
vember I piled up the ‘ Nancy Jane’ on that island in 
one of the stiffest snow-storms that ever struck the 
coast.” 


At first light the following morning the ocean tug 
“Storm King” steamed swiftly down Stroudport Bay 
headed for Stone Horse Island and Codville. Aboard 
of her were the fathers of Val, Cal, and Sum, re- 
spectively; also Captain Bucklin, owner of the tug; 
Farleigh Hartwell, Cheney Killen, and Manager 
Culverson. 

The City Marshal had been advised of the facts 
in the case. He was to wire all coast points east and 
west to be on the lookout for the yacht “Spitfire,” 
and any suspiciously acting steam-yacht. 

It was very evident that Val and Cal were not at 
liberty to report their whereabouts, else some token 
would have been received ere this. Conjecture 
failed to furnish a satisfactory hypothesis on which 
to account for their disappearance, except that they 


ON THE SEARCH 


323 


had been lured aboard the unknown yacht, and 
abducted. The party proposed to call in at every 
port of importance on the way to Stone Horse Island, 
and make inquiries, as well as keep a sharp lookout 
for anything unusual or suspicious en route . 

And so, with minds burdened with deep anxiety 
and perplexity, they saw the islands of the bay grow 
dim behind them as the tug steamed onward to the 
search. 


CHAPTER XXXIV 


IN HOT HASTE AFTER JONES 

Sumner Parker, dripping with perspiration, and 
almost overcome with mortification — for if he prided 
himself on anything, it was his personal appearance 
— was skulking in a clump of pines, hurling boyish 
anathemas at the dog that so persistently intruded on 
his seclusion, and wishing, oh, so earnestly, that the 
red-headed man would hurry along those clothes. 

There came a hurried step outside; some one gave 
the dog a vigorous slap, and he departed yelping, 
with feelings deeply hurt; and then the boughs 
parted in front of Sum, and a face peered in. 

Sumner was on the point of renewing his flight, 
when the newcomer spoke. It was the young man 
whom he had seen with the girl on the beach. 

“ Halloo, don’t run, Kent Ransome,” was the 
newcomer’s rather astonishing greeting, as he pushed 
his way into the clump and extended his hand to 
Sumner. “I’ve been expecting you to arrive for 
two days. You are late, but I’m mighty glad to 
see you just the same. Let me introduce myself as 
James, otherwise Jim Hilton, very much at your 
service.” 

“Oh,” gasped Sumner, not fully comprehending 

324 


IN HOT HASTE AFTER JONES 325 


what the stranger was saying, but mechanically 
returning the handshake. “I thought it might be 
that girl, you know.” 

“That’s my sister Madge. She’s on the beach. 
Don’t worry about her. But I say,” went on Hil- 
ton, shaking Sum’s hand heartily again, “I am 
awfully glad to see you, even if you didn’t get here 
on schedule time. Why weren’t you sooner?” 

Sumner, having recovered from his embarrassment 
somewhat, gazed at Jim Hilton in perplexity. 

“What are you driving at?” he demanded ab- 
ruptly. “As for getting here on schedule time, as 
you call it, if I’d had my own way about it, I never 
would have arrived at all.” 

“I knew it; I knew it!” exclaimed Hilton, clapping 
Sumner excitedly on the back. “Splendid! Ele- 
gant! You are the very man.” And he looked as 
though he wanted to dance a jig, so enthusiastic 
was he. 

Sumner gazed at his companion as though he was 
looking upon a maniac. 

“Look here,” said he, suspiciously, “I believe 
you’re half crazy. Who do you take me for, any- 
how? I’m not your man. My name is Sumner 
Parker, and I’m from Stroudport. Never heard 
of Kent Ransome before in my life.” 

“Your name isn’t Kent Ransome?” queried 
Jim Hilton, in a disappointed tone. 

“Not much,” retorted Sum, shortly, for he could 
make nothing of this conversation. “But if you 


326 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


want to help me out, Mr. Hilton, if you want to give 
me a great big boost , you’ll just tell my valet to hurry 
up with my wardrobe.’’ 

“Your what?” exclaimed Hilton, now mystified 
in turn. 

“ My valet. I had just engaged him when you and 
your sister came along. He’s a short, red-headed 
man, with blue glasses, and a red and white blazer, 
and ” 

“Where is he?” demanded Jim Hilton. “I know 
him. He’s the Cheerful Lunatic.” 

“The which?” 

“Sis and I call him the Cheerful Lunatic,” 
explained Jim, laughing. “His name is Professor 
J. Lowton Strodder, though what he is professor of, 
goodness only knows. He’s a bright man, but eccen- 
tric; terrifically eccentric. Where is he?” 

“I should say Cheerful Lunatic was a good 
name for him,” returned Sum. “He was going to 
bring me some clothes down by the cow-pasture 
fence, near the rowboat.” 

“I’ll go after him,” said Hilton. “Wait here till 
I come back.” 

He was off like a flash. 

“Did he think I would go wandering ’round the 
country, I wonder?” mused Sumner, laughing to 
himself, for the prospect of clothes made him feel 
more cheerful. “The folks in this place are funny 
things; here’s two freaks discovered already. I 
wonder if the girl is like the others?” 


IN HOT HASTE AFTER JONES 327 


Before Sumner had time to muse long, Jim Hilton 
came in sight on the beach, hurrying along the man 
who had been designated as Professor S.trodder, or 
the “Cheerful Lunatic.” 

Each had some clothes in his arms, and Jim Hilton 
was dangling a pair of shoes. They soon reached 
the pine clump, and Hilton plunged at once into 
Sum’s retreat, while the Professor hovered about 
outside. 

“I hope you’ll excuse my everlasting stupidity,” 
was Hilton’s first exclamation, “to keep you talking 
when you wanted clothes so badly, and half starved, 
too.” 

As he talked, Sumner seized the clothing. Strip- 
ping off his wet underwear, he hurriedly began 
attiring himself in the garments Hilton offered him. 

“And then, you see,” Jim Hilton went on, “I 
didn’t know just how you were going to arrive, or 
I’d have been ready for you. I don’t think, after 
all, that it makes any difference if your name is Sum- 
ner Parker, instead of Kent Ransome. The Pro- 
fessor doesn’t seem to think it will ” 

“That’s a comfort, anyhow,” was Sumner’s 
retort, in mild irony. 

“So we won’t talk about the matter any more 
now,” continued Hilton, decisively, “but try to make 
you comfortable.” 

“Very kind of you,” Sumner managed to say, as 
he worked away making himself presentable. 

The clothing evidently belonged to the Professor. 


328 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


Luckily that person was about Sum’s height; but 
there was a decided difference in build — Sumner 
being quite fleshy, while the Professor was as slim 
as a lath. So the trousers, shirt, and coat fitted, as 
Parker laughingly remarked, “like the fly to the 
molasses.” 

Dry stockings, a pair of tennis shoes just his size, 
and a yachting cap, completed the toilet. Sum 
wrung out his wet nether garments, and stepped out 
of the thicket, feeling once more ready to face the 
world. He almost ran into the arms of Professor 
Strodder, who greeted him with a hearty handshake, 
but made no remark. The trio took their way along 
the beach toward the rowboat ; and then it suddenly 
occurred to Sumner that he had a mission to per- 
form outside of securing his personal safety and 
comfort. 

“Say,” he exclaimed, pausing abruptly. “Where 
am I, and where’s the sheriff?” 

The Professor had lost himself in a fit of deep 
abstraction; but Hilton turned with an exclamation 
of surprise. 

“A sheriff? What do you want of a sheriff?” 

Without waiting for Sumner to reply, he rattled 
on hurriedly: — 

“Perhaps there’s one in town, though; Padgett 
can tell you. This is Cod Island ; and at the present 
minute you are about two miles from the village of 
Codville, and about twenty-five miles from main- 
land.” 


IN HOT HASTE AFTER JONES 329 


“How do you get to the mainland?” was Sum’s 
anxious query, when he learned this unsatisfactory 
state of affairs. 

“There’s a sailing packet twice a week; she left 
this morning. You can’t get off on her before next 
Monday,” was the unwelcome reply. 

“But I must do something,” Sumner declared 
energetically. “Do you see that island over there?” 
He indicated the place where the “Spitfire” had gone 
ashore. 

“That’s Buckhorn Island,” returned Jim Hilton, 
following the direction of Sumner’s outstretched arm. 
“What of it?” 

The Professor was still plunged in meditation, and 
paid no heed to the conversation. 

“What of it?” retorted Sumner. “Just this of 
it. There’s one of the stunningest yachts ashore on 
that island. She was stolen from Stroudport Bay, 
Wednesday morning, with me aboard; we were 
blown out to sea in the storm, and finally driven 
ashore there. I got away from the robber, Jones, 
this morning, and came here, and now I want a 
sheriff to arrest the thief and help me get the yacht 
back.” 

Jim Hilton stopped in his walk and grasped Sum- 
ner excitedly by the shoulder. 

“Why didn’t you tell me this before?” 

“Because I didn’t have a chance,” retorted Sum. 
“You didn’t even ask me how I happened to come 
ashore here, nor where I came from.” 


330 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


“Why,” responded Jim, in surprise, “we knew all 
that, of course.” 

“You knew ? ” gasped Sum. “ How’d you know ? ” 

“Oh, never mind now,” Jim said hurriedly. 
“You must come right up to Padgett’s with me. 
Sis and the Professor and I board at Padgett’s, you 
know,” he explained. “Padgett can tell what to do 
about this business, and we’ll get a square meal 
inside of you.” 

It took no urging to make Sumner agree to this 
move. The Professor said he wished to stay on the 
beach, so leaving him behind, they hurried forward. 

Leander Padgett’s house stood some three or four 
hundred yards back from the sea wall. A grove of 
pines partly screened it from the sea, and before it 
ran what was presumably the highway, though it 
was little more than a path of sand mixed with clam 
shells and sawdust. The house was a comfortable- 
looking dwelling, with an ell, and a good shed at the 
back. Beyond this was a large garden, at the 
extremity of which appeared the figure of a man. 

“There’s Padgett,” said Jim. “We’ll go right 
over.” 

Mr. Padgett proved to be a kind-hearted, pleasant 
fisherman-farmer. He greeted Sumner cordially, 
and listened sympathetically to the story which he, 
with interjections from Jim, related. 

“Stole the yacht, did he, an’ you too?” he finally 
exclaimed. “Wal, sich actions are ruther tew stiff 
fer my blood. The ery of pirates hez gone by. An’ 


IN HOT HASTE AFTER JONES 331 


you wuz driv’ ashore on Buckhorn Island last night, 
wuz you?” he went on. “What time?” 

“About ten o’clock,” Sumner answered. 

Mr. Padgett wrinkled his brows as he spent a 
moment in calculation. 

“You must hev gone ashore nigh on to high tide, 
ez I figger it,” he finally said. “So ’t’ll be high 
tide agin ’bout ’leven.” 

“It’s nine now,” announced Jim, after consulting 
his watch. 

“Jes’so,” returned Padgett, “an’ do you reckon,” 
he went on earnestly, addressing Sumner, “do you 
reckon your craft would float at high tide?” 

When this question was propounded Sumner’s 
face took on a deeper shade of anxiety; for, to tell 
the truth, so immovable had the “Spitfire” seemed 
in her sandy berth, that the possibility of the tide 
lifting h£r, and enabling Jones to sail away, had not 
presented itself to him. 

“ Great Caesar ! ” he exclaimed. “ I forgot all about 
the tide. But, I say,” he went on, “the 'Spitfire’ 
was stuck hard ” 

“So’s lots of craft, but the tide lifts ’em,” returned 
Padgett, sententiously. “We hain’t got time to get 
a warrant issued, much less to find an officer to sarve 
it; an’ all is, we’ve got to hyper over to Buckhorn 
Island an’ sail intew that Jones before he can git 
away. Come to the house an’ git some fodder, an’ 
we’ll start, drat my biskits ef we don’t.” 

Leander Padgett gave a squint at the sun, shoul- 


332 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


dered his hoe, and started for the house, followed by 
Jim and Sumner. 

“What did I tell you?” said Jim. “I tell you 
Padgett is the man to get you out of the scrape.” 

The next quarter of an hour was a trying one for 
Sumner, since he had to undergo Madge Hilton’s 
bright, though sympathetic glances. Though she 
did her best to give Sumner no cause for embarrass- 
ment, it was impossible to prevent a sparkle of mirth 
showing in her eyes occasionally as she recalled the 
ridiculous figure he had cut on the beach; and Sum- 
ner, realizing it even more keenly, reddened more 
and more at the recollection, until, as he afterward 
said, he felt as though he had been in a tub of hot 
water for a week. 

But this trying time was greatly mitigated by the 
substantial repast which kindly Mrs. Padgett set 
before him; and when Mr. Padgett announced him- 
self as ready for the affray, Sumner’s inner man was 
much refreshed. 

It was fully half-past nine when the party reached 
the beach, accompanied by Miss Madge and Mrs. 
Padgett, both of whom were as interested and 
excited as any of the party. 

The tender was safe, since the boys had taken the 
precaution to pull her out of reach of the rising tide; 
but inasmuch as the surf was high, it was decided to 
make use of Padgett’s big dory for the trip, since it had 
two pairs of oars, and was a capital surf boat ; as, in 
fact, dories are from the nature of their construction. 


IN HOT HASTE AFTER JONES 333 


Padgett had his shotgun and a revolver of the 
pattern known as “bulldog” and Jim had a light 
Marlin rifle, all in anticipation of emergencies. The 
revolver Padgett gave into Sumner’s hands, and 
altogether they presented quite a warlike appearance 
as they filed down on the beach. 

“You’d better let me go along to fire the rifle,” 
coaxed Madge, though the laugh in her eyes belied 
the tenor of her words. “ I can fire it straighter than 
Jim, anyhow. I’d put a little hole through that 
horrid man just as nice.” 

“Listen to that for bloodthirstiness,” ejaculated 
Mrs. Padgett, laughing in spite of her apprehension. 

“P’raps we hed better take you ’long, and leave 
Jim to dream some more dreams,” said Padgett, 
slyly. 

Whatever this sally might mean, it had the effect 
of making Jim redden. 

“ Oh, go ’way with you !” he exclaimed impatiently. 
“We shan’t get there to-day if you stop to talk.” 

The trio got through the surf without accident, 
and pulled away lustily, leaving Madge and Mrs. 
Padgett on the beach gazing after, and occasionally 
waving a handkerchief. 

They were halfway to the island, when Jim, who 
was in the stern, shaded his eyes, and gazed fixedly 
at the island ahead. 

“Is that the yacht’s mast I see over the ridge?” 
he asked finally. 

“Like’s not,” said Padgett, pausing in his rowing, 


334 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


and turning to look. “That ridge hain’t very high. 
But you’ve got better eyes than me, if you can see 
her mast so fur as this.” 

“I see it, too,” exclaimed Sumner, presently, “and 
* — I — believe — yes, sir, — it’s moving! ” 

“’Tain’t possible,” exclaimed Padgett, incredu- 
lously, though with considerable excitement in his 
voice. “’Tain’t high tide fur an hour yit.” 

“It’s a fact, just the same,” corroborated Jim. 
“The mast seems to be swaying back and forth as 
though the yacht was tossing on a swell. And, by 
cracky!” he went on excitedly, “her mainsail’s 
going up.” 

At this unwelcome information efforts at the oars 
were redoubled, for it appeared that Mr. Padgett’s 
tidal calculations were at fault, or else Sumner was 
mistaken regarding the time the yacht went ashore 
and the condition of her sandy berth. As they 
approached the island more closely, the gyrations of 
the mast, and the tip of white which must be the 
peak of the mainsail, were more plainly visible, until 
they rowed close inshore, and the ridge of land 
loomed up and cut off the view. 

“ Ef ’twan’t so fur, our best holt would be to row 
’round the island and head ’im off; but we hain’t 
got time,” said Padgett, as the dory came close 
inshore. “We must land right here, scoot over the 
ridge, and try to ketch the rascal before he can work 
the yacht out of the cove.” 

The dory drove smartly ashore almost at the spot 


IN HOT HASTE AFTER JONES 335 

where Sumner had left the island earlier in the day. 
To his joy, he found his effects unmolested in their 
hiding-place ; but there was no time to change clothes 
now. Hastily drawing the dory out of reach of the 
water, they stole as quietly as possible up the rough 
slope, in single file; Padgett ahead with the shot- 
gun, Sumner next with revolver in hand, and Jim 
guarding the rear, with the rifle. 

They did not think it probable that Jones knew of 
their arrival, for not a sign of him had been seen, and 
an easy victory was counted upon, provided he had 
not yet been able to get the “ Spitfire” out of the 
cove, or, at least, so well under way that it would be 
impossible to stop him. 

A moment later the trio gained the summit of 
the ridge, and looked anxiously down. The “ Spit- 
fire, ” with jib and mainsail set, was leisurely moving 
along, headed for the narrow opening in the reef. 
The wind was from the west, which was fair to take 
her through. Jones, at the tiller, was looking 
neither to the right nor left, but kept his gaze steadily 
on the narrow opening through which the yacht 
must pass to reach the open sea, and his back was 
almost squarely turned toward his unexpected 
visitors. 

“Hold up!” screamed Padgett, instantly plunging 
down the slope toward the cove. “Luff her, luff 
her, I say, or I’ll plunk your measly hide full o’ 
buckshot.” 

Sumner and Jim Hilton ran hotly after their 


336 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


leader, and shouted threateningly as they went; 
but neither of them could have told a minute later 
what they had said. 

For one astonished instant Jones looked around, 
and beheld the trio charging down the hillside. 
Another hundred feet and he would be through the 
gap. Every foot of progress took him more and 
more out of the lee of the island, and gave the wind 
a better chance at the sails. He gave one sharp look 
ahead — the yacht was heading dead for the opening 
in the reef — then dropped out of sight behind the 
washboard, leaving nothing visible save a hand on 
the tiller. 

It was an exciting moment for all concerned. The 
three pursuers, having reached the water’s edge, 
raced along the cove shore, striving to get abreast 
of the yacht before she reached the outlet. 

“’Tain’t no use,” groaned Padgett, presently, 
stopping short and puffing vehemently. “Oh, 
wouldn’t I like to fill him chock-full of lead. But 
what can ye do?” 

“Try for his hand!” exclaimed Sumner, excitedly. 

A moment later there rang out a report that was 
the combined utterance of rifle, revolver, and shotgun. 
The stern of the “Spitfire” was smartly peppered, 
and Jones’ hand suddenly dropped from sight. But 
the tiller, held by the comb, did not shift. The 
yacht, gathering headway every moment, dashed 
on like a bird. Straight through the gap she sped, 
with never a bump or grind. When she had reached 


IN HOT HASTE AFTER JONES 337 


a distance of several hundred yards offshore, Jones, 
deeming himself safe, rose to view and shook a fist 
at the group he was leaving behind. 

“Drat my biskits !” exclaimed Padgett, in great 
wrath. “Wouldn’t I jest enjoy punching that 
feller’s head!” 

Jim said nothing, but looked extremely vexed, 
while Sumner stamped his foot in a paroxysm of 
indignation. 


CHAPTER XXXV 


AN ATTEMPT AT RECAPTURE 

To say that Sumner Parker was disappointed at the 
failure of the expedition to capture Jones and retake 
the “ Spitfire,” is to measure too lightly the feelings 
that overpowered him as he watched the yacht sail- 
ing away from the island, and though neither of his 
companions had any personal interest at stake, yet 
their faces expressed a depth of sympathetic indig- 
nation completely in accord with his own emotions. 

“Dumb it all!” ejaculated Padgett, finally, abruptly 
turning his back on the yacht. “He’s euchred us 
this time, an’ we hain’t got no show fer to help our- 
selves. We might’s well go back hum; ’twon’t do 
no good to stand here all day gazin’ after him. 
That won’t bring him back, nor the bo’t, neither.” 

There was common sense in this remark, and the 
trio made its way back to the dory. After pausing 
until Sumner had resumed his own clothing and 
secured the camera, they embarked and pulled 
leisurely for Codville. 

The “Spitfire” had gone off to the southward, 
and the occupants of the dory could see her plainly 
two or three miles distant, standing off and on, as 
though Jones was undecided what course to pursue. 

338 


AN ATTEMPT AT RECAPTURE 339 


“I wish to goodness there'd come a flat calm,” 
said Sumner, presently, after watching the ma- 
neuvers of the yacht for some minutes. “Then 
we might row after him, and catch the yacht after 
all.” 

“That's so,” assented Padgett. “It's a pity we 
can't boss the wind 'round to suit us; but we can't, 
an' it don't look much like a calm this day.” 

The old man cast a weather-wise eye at the 
sky. The wind was coming briskly out of the west, 
and nothing seemed to indicate any cessation of its 
force. 

“I suppose it’s no go, anyhow, and I must make 
the best of it,” said Sumner, disconsolately. “I 
don’t care so much for myself, for I can get home 
somehow; but there's the ‘Spitfire’ — she doesn’t 
belong to me. I feel responsible for her, for I was 
in charge of her when she was stolen.” 

“Wai,” returned Padgett, reassuringly, “there 
hain't but one thing you kin do, and the Lord knows 
we ain’t called on to perform no impossibilities. 
You sent a message hum by the pigeon, an’ prob'ly 
by now your folks have got it and are hyperin' 'round 
to come fer ye. They’ll likely send dispatches all 
along the coast for the officers to keep an eye out for 
the stolen yacht. This coast hain't so big but one 
kin get on track of a stolen bo't without much trouble, 
'specially such a craft as yourn. 

“You see,” he went on, “Jones'd have to dodge 
'round a pile to keep some one from findin' him, an' 


340 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


once known such a boh has been stole, fust time she 
turns up she’s bound to be reported. The fellow 
has got to go ashore sometime. He can’t sail ’round 
forever. 

“As I said before, there hain’t but one thing you 
kin do, an’ that is to stay right with us till the next 
packet, which is Monday. That’ll get you to Cross 
Harbor, where you’ll strike railroad and telegraft, 
an’ then you’ll be all hunky.” 

“Why can’t I reach mainland without waiting 
for the packet?” inquired Sumner, anxiously. 

“ ’Cause you’d have to row thirty miles in a small 
bo’t to do it,” replied Padgett, promptly. “An’ I 
won’t allow you to do that. All the smacks has gone 
fishin’, or there might be a way to git ye up without 
waitin’. I jest wish Bob Small was here with his 
* Katie, ’ we’d give that scamp a hot chase, an’ stand 
a chance of ketchin’ him, too; though your bo’t is 
a speedy craft — she showed too much speed for us, 
anyhow.” 

“Well,” sighed Sumner, “I suppose I’ll have to 
wait for the packet ; but you must give me something 
to do to earn my board while I stay, for I’ve got 
just a quarter in my clothes. All the rest of my 
money is on the ‘Spitfire.’” 

“The idee,” was the rejoinder. “I shan’t take 
a cent.” 

“Yes, you will,” retorted the cook of the “Spitfire,” 
decidedly, “or I shall have to find a place where I 
can earn it. I shan’t impose myself on any one.” 


AN ATTEMPT AT RECAPTURE 341 


“ Guess you do’ know what kind of folks we are 
down here,” chuckled the old man. “Wy, we 
never know when a shipwrecked crew’s a-goin’ to 
turn up an’ eat us out of house an’ hum. But if 
you do reely feel that way, I’ve got some paint up to 
the house, an’ I’ve been caPlatin’ to touch up the 
place soon’s I could. Can you spread paint?” 

“I can try hard,” said Sumner. 

“Then it’s a bargain. We’ll get at the paintin’ 
te-morrer mornin’.” 

It was a hungry crowd that landed on Cod Island 
soon after Sumner made his bargain with Padgett, 
nor were their spirits as light by several degrees as 
when they started. It was apparent, however, to 
Sumner that Mr. Padgett’s view of the situation was 
correct, and he felt compelled to follow the old man’s 
advice. The carriers would no doubt do their work 
well, and Captain Bucklin was on the lookout for 
them; so his parents and Val and Cal would know 
soon where the yacht was. On Monday he could get 
away himself, and do his share in recapturing the 
“Spitfire.” Having reached this conclusion, he 
resolutely tried to put his disappointment out of 
mind. 

After an extremely good dinner Mr. Padgett, Sum- 
ner, and Jim walked over to Codville to notify the 
authorities regarding the theft of the yacht. They saw 
nothing of the “Spitfire,” although they followed the 
shore the entire distance, and kept a keen watch. 

Sumner found Codville to be a typical fishing vil- 


342 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


lage, situated at the head of a snug harbor on the 
south end of the island. Lobster pots, drying nets, 
and split fish curing in the open air were everywhere 
in evidence. 

Most of the men being away fishing, the village 
wore something of a deserted look, but the proprietor 
of the single store — where a general stock of wonder- 
ful proportions was kept — was at his place of busi- 
ness. In addition to being first selectman of the 
town, this individual, ’Squire Muggins, was also 
town clerk and treasurer, justice of the peace and 
a trial justice as well, besides being postmaster; but 
despite his numerous official duties, he still found 
time for personal affairs, and when the trio entered 
the store they found the ’Squire asleep on the back 
counter. 

He was made acquainted with the robbery of the 
yacht, and as well as he could Sumner described 
Jones to him. A warrant for the arrest of Jones 
was made out, which the ’Squire agreed to place in 
the hands of Constable Bodkin immediately upon 
that officer’s return from Jonesboro on the morrow. 
Likewise he promised to tell every one he saw about 
the matter — which promise he no doubt kept, since 
news was scarce in Codville, and every scrid of it was 
treasured up and told and retold until it became 
completely worn out. 


“Say, Sumner,” asked Jim Hilton, in a guarded 
undertone, “do you believe in dreams?” 


AN ATTEMPT AT RECAPTURE 343 


It was forenoon of the next day. Mr. Padgett, 
before going offshore to underrun his trawl, had 
rigged a swinging stage across the front of the Pad- 
gett domicile; and on this, some twenty feet above 
the ground, and connected thereto by a ladder, stood 
Sumner Parker, industriously plying a paint brush, 
while Jim Hilton, who had volunteered to assist, 
worked beside him. 

It was a bright, clear morning. From their posi- 
tion a good view of the sea to the eastward was obtain- 
able, including the island where Sumner had been 
driven ashore, and the others near it. 

Padgett pere had now gone off to his trawl, Mrs. 
Padgett was in the kitchen at the back of the house, 
and Miss Madge, after casually inquiring if the boys 
did not want her to come up and hold a sunshade 
over them, had taken possession of a hammock under 
the trees near by, where she was reading. The eccen- 
tric Professor Strodder strolled to and fro under the 
trees, meditating deeply, and occasionally jotting 
down the result of his cogitations in a note-book. 

“Well,” replied Sumner, eyeing critically a broad 
streak of paint that he had just laid on, “that depends 
on the dream. I know one that I believed in, espe- 
cially at the time.” 

“What was it?” asked Jim, with considerable 
interest. This seemed to be a pet subject with him. 

“Why, when I was about a dozen years old,” 
said Sumner, “I was rummaging ’round for some- 
thing to eat, and found a lot of lemon pies on a pantry 


344 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


shelf. I hooked one, and poked it out the window 
and left it on the window ledge, intending to go 
’round into the back yard and get it when nobody 
was looking. But mother sent me on an errand 
just then, and I forgot all about the pie. 

“That night I dreamt the dog had eaten it up, 
and sure enough, when I went after it next morning, 
he was just finishing it. That’s the only dream I 
ever had come true.” 

“Pshaw! That was easy ” began Jim. 

“Yes, for the dog,” was Sum’s facetious inter- 
ruption. 

“But I mean something different from that,” 
resumed Jim, earnestly. “I mean a dream that is 
a dream; something tangible; something — well, 
I don’t hardly know how to express what I mean, 
but ” 

“I never saw a tangible dream,” returned Sum, 
with mock solemnity. “My kind were always as 
thin as air, and disappeared when I woke up.” 

“Of course,” was Jim’s impatient retort; “but 
you don’t quite understand me yet. I haven’t said 
anything to you about it before. I’ve been waiting 
to see if you knew about it yourself.” 

“About what?” demanded Sumner, somewhat 
mystified by his companion’s peculiar air. 

“But it’s plain that you don’t know anything 
about the matter, or you would have said so,” Jim 
went on. 

“Now don’t you take it for granted that I tell every- 


AN ATTEMPT AT RECAPTURE 345 


thing I know,” retorted Sum, good-naturedly. 
“Tell me what you’re driving at, and I’ll tell you if 
I know anything about it.” 

“It is a dream that I dreamed three times,” said 
Jim, with impressive earnestness, which, however, 
did not seem to have a great deal of effect on the 
volatile Sumner. “And it was about you.” 

“About me? Oh, get out!” 

“Yes, sir,” affirmed Jim, “about you. Part of it 
has come true already, and if it all comes true, as it 
will, it means thousands of dollars for each of us. I 
tell you the third time never fails.” 

“Whew, you don’t say so!” Sumner cried, now 
thoroughly interested. “If you can dream me into 
a fortune, Jim Hilton,” he went on, “I’ll be your 
friend for life. Tell it, quick.” 

“Last Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday nights I 
dreamed that you came ashore in a small boat,” 
began Jim, earnestly. 

“Then why did you call me Kent Ransome?” 
demanded Sumner, beginning to understand the 
queer reception accorded him on the previous morning. 

“Oh, well, I didn’t dream very distinctly what 
your name was. I just had the impression that it 
was something of that sort. But you must be the 
fellow, for he was short and stout. Then I dreamed 
that on Friday night — that’s to-night — we took 
your boat, and you and I and Professor Strodder ” 

“The blue-haired lunatic,” interjected Sum, with 
a chuckle, for the Professor’s immense blue glasses 


346 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


and erratic movements excited his risibilities when- 
ever they came to mind. 

“He’s a mighty smart man, if he is peculiar,” 
affirmed Jim, stoutly, catching Sum’s exclamation. 
“He believes in the dream. He’s all ready to go 
with us.” 

“Well, go on.” 

“Friday night we took your boat and landed at 
midnight on Stone Horse Island ” 

“What island is that?” 

“There it is,” explained Jim, turning from his 
work to point out over the water. “That one just 
north of Buckhorn, where you went ashore. See 
that big rock on it ? That’s the stone horse.” 

Sumner saw, and remarked that he had taken a 
picture of it. 

“We had a hen ” began Jim. 

“A hen?” exclaimed Sumner. “What for? to 
roast, or lay eggs for breakfast? ” 

“To scratch,” was the laconic explanation. 

“We landed, put the hen on the ground, and fol- 
lowed her as she led the way to the highest part of 
the island. There she began to scratch for all she 
was worth, and just then the moon came out from 
behind a cloud, and right across it were the words, 
‘Here lies Captain Kidd’s treasure.’” 

“And then?” asked Sum, who was interested, in 
spite of his incredulity. 

“Then,” said Jim, “I woke up.” 

“Of course, I might have known it,” was his com- 


AN ATTEMPT AT RECAPTURE 347 


panion’s reply. “A fellow’s never allowed to enjoy 
a fortune, even in his sleep. Well, what do you 
make of it, anyhow?” 

“It’s a dead sure thing,” was Jim’s earnest reply. 
“The third time never fails. The first part of the 
dream has come true. You have come ashore, in 
a small boat. There’s nothing to hinder our taking 
the hen and going to Stone Horse Island to-night to 
carry out the rest of the dream. Will you do it?” 

“Why, certainly, if it will be any accommodation, 
but I don’t believe we’ll find a thing. The idea,” 
he laughed, “a hen to scratch up Kidd’s treasure! 
Do you expect the words to write themselves across 
the moon, too?” 

He glanced quizzically at Jim. 

“Certainly not; we’ll take a shovel along and dig 
where the hen scratches, and find the treasure there, 
instead.” 

“Well, I’ll go along with you, and the Professor 
and — the hen,” laughed Sumner. 

“Then it’s a bargain,” announced Jim, grasping 
Sumner’s disengaged hand heartily. “But not a 
word to the folks, for Sis would worry and Padgett 
would laugh. He knows more than is good for him 
already.” 

As Sumner completed this compact he glanced 
down to the ground, and beheld a familiar figure 
hurrying up the yard. 

“I’ve caught you at last, you young scamp!” a 
well-known voice exclaimed, as its owner paused 


348 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


beneath the staging. “Come down here, and don’t 
waste time about it, either.” 

The newcomer was no less a person than Jones. 

“By George!” muttered Sumner, in an under- 
tone, “ here’s the fellow that stole the yacht, and he’s 
after me. What shall I do?” 

“I admire his gall,” retorted Jim, loudly, turning 
in such haste that he nearly fell from the staging. 
“I guess he doesn’t know there’s a warrant out for 
his arrest,” he added in a lower tone. 

“ Say, do you hear me?” called Jones, threateningly, 
coming to the foot of the ladder. “You come down 
here, and come mighty lively, my young duck, or 
somebody will get a hole in him.” 

Jones spoke with deep emphasis, and pulled his 
revolver into sight as he did so. 

“Get in through the window,” whispered Jim, 
breathlessly. “Run down and get Padgett’s shot- 
gun, or my rifle, and arrest the fellow, while I stay 
here and parley with him.” 

No sooner did the idea take lodgment in Sumner’s 
excited head than he made a quick dive through 
an open window close at hand, and vanished from 
view. 

The staging now shook under the hurried steps 
of Jones on the ladder, for he was coming in pursuit, 
and his face did not wear a pleased expression. 
Evidently he felt that he could terrorize the household 
as much as he pleased, and secure his object with little 
trouble; but he reckoned without his host. 


AN ATTEMPT AT RECAPTURE 349 


A pail, three quarters full of bright yellow paint, 
found its way to the top of the ladder. A moment 
later it was inverted over the head of the ascending 
Jones, and quicker than it takes to tell it the yellow 
shower enveloped the burly ruffian from head to foot, 
and took the starch out of him as quickly as an 
electric shock would have done. 

He fairly dropped from the ladder in his astonish- 
ment ; and as he danced about in wrath on the ground 
below the stage, swearing like a trooper and en- 
deavoring to wipe away the oily yellow liquid that 
ran in streams down his clothing, Jim Hilton gazed 
down in elation, and felt that the hand of retribu- 
tion had begun to put in its work. 

‘Til pay you dearly for this!” affirmed the en- 
raged man, gritting his teeth, as he brushed away at 
the paint. He pocketed his revolver, that he might 
work with both hands, and was gathering a bunch of 
grass to assist in removing the paint, when a sharp 
command in a girlish voice demanded his attention. 

“Go right away from this house!” 

Miss Madge, surprised in the midst of her book 
by the arrival of Jones, had slipped into the house, 
secured Jim’s rifle — which she could handle with 
as much accuracy as her brother — and appeared 
on the scene, determined to drive off the intruder. 
Her grit did her credit, but her girlish appearance 
did not make Jones’ heart quail, and not till she 
had repeated her command did he take her at all 
seriously. 


350 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


In some apprehension, he desisted from his clean- 
ing operations at the second word of command, 
and then, — the front door burst open and Sumner 
appeared with Padgett’s double-barreled shotgun 
leveled. 

Before either Miss Madge or Sumner could anti- 
cipate his movement, Jones turned and ran swiftly 
out of the yard and down the road, dodging hither 
and thither to make aim difficult. In his flight he 
nearly upset the erratic Professor Strodder, who, 
hearing loud words, had wandered up and was 
looking on agape; and the ruffian quickly disap- 
peared from view around a turn, closely followed by 
Tacks, who bounded after in pell-mell enthusiasm. 

Jim descended from the staging, and the entire 
company, now supplemented by Mrs. Padgett, 
laughed long and loudly at the mishap that had 
befallen Jones, and at his singular yellow appear- 
ance as he departed. The only thing to dim the 
mirth was the fact that the attempt at capture had 
failed. 

“Come, Jim,” said Sumner, presently awaking to 
the exigencies of the occasion, “we must follow him 
up. He’s got the ‘Spitfire’ somewhere ’round, 
and if we move lively, we may be able to get hold of 
her.” 

Jim was as eager for the affray as his companion, 
and taking the rifle and shotgun, they ran off in the 
direction Jones had taken, followed by admonitions 
from those who remained behind. 


AN ATTEMPT AT RECAPTURE 351 


About fifteen minutes after Jones’ disappearance 
from the Padgett domicile, a singular looking indi- 
vidual, followed by all the youngsters and dogs 
in the village, entered the general store of ’Squire 
Muggins at Codville, and breathlessly inquired if he 
kept turpentine. 

The ’Squire eyed his would-be customer from 
head to toe, and grinned. 

“What ye want it fer?” he hazarded facetiously. 
“To thin ye out? Hed a paint shower up your way, 
hain’t ye?” 

“Had an accident,” vouchsafed the man, gruffly, 
in a tone that warned fun-makers to beware. 

The ’Squire led the way to the back store, and 
here the paint-besmeared Jones spent some minutes 
in cleaning up his person as best he could with the 
means at hand. Emerging at length into the main 
store, he was confronted by two dusty youths who 
entered at that moment by the front door. 

“Catch him, ’Squire,” called the foremost, who 
happened to be Jim, pointing at the figure of Jones 
framed in the rear doorway. “That’s the man 
who stole the yacht.” 

At this unexpected declaration ’Squire Muggins 
jumped a foot, but Jones jumped farther. Without 
ceremony, without waiting to pay for the turpentine 
he had used in cleaning off the paint, he turned and 
bolted out the back way. After him went the ’Squire, 
followed by Jim, Sumner, and a long and straggling 
procession of youngsters and dogs, which had been 


352 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


waiting in front of the store for Jones to emerge, and 
which now, under the stimulus of great excitement, 
lost their awe of the storekeeper and streamed 
inside. 

Jones led the way, and such a way. In the rear 
of the store was a large yard, well filled with boxes, 
barrels, crates, and all sorts of odds and ends, over 
which the ruffian vaulted as though running a hurdle 
race. The ’Squire, who was no light-weight, and 
somewhat stiff and rheumatic, became mired — so 
to speak — in the midst of this collection, and so did 
the bulk of the youngsters composing the procession, 
but Jim and Sum climbed over all obstructions, as 
also did a few of Codville’s youthful population, and 
all the dogs; and presently the aggregation was going 
at full tilt through the woods that came up to the 
’Squire’s back fence, while the ’Squire himself 
climbed upon a box for a better view, and shouted 
encouragement to the pursuers. 

For some hundred yards Jones’ course was easy 
to follow. Then woods and underbrush thickened, 
and his form was lost to view, nor was the noise of 
his progress audible when they paused to listen, as 
was frequently done, for the dogs and youngsters 
made a great rumpus as they ran hither and thither. 

The pursuit soon became a matter of guesswork 
and conjecture. When at last Sum and Jim emerged 
on the shore of a cove fully half a mile from Codville 
- — having distanced all the youngsters — they found 
that they in turn had been outdone. The “ Spitfire,” 


AN ATTEMPT AT RECAPTURE 353 


which Jones had apparently run as closely inshore as 
he dared before coming ashore, was standing out 
with mainsail loosely set, as though hoisted in a 
great hurry. Of Jones nothing was visible save a 
hand on the tiller. 

“ Stumped again,” groaned Sumner, in deep 
disgust. 

Jim said nothing, but looked indignant volumes as 
he labored to regain his breath; while half a dozen 
curs of various colors and sizes pranced about at the 
water’s edge, and barked lustily. 


CHAPTER XXXVI 


A HUNT FOR TREASURE 

“Sh-sh — don’t make so much noise.” 

Two persons were standing in the doorway of Mr. 
Padgett’s henhouse, and a third was evidently in- 
side, for sundry protesting voices sounded among 
the feathered residents. The time was about ten- 
thirty o’clock, Friday night. 

“ Cut — cut — cut — cackle — cackle — squawk 
— squawk!” 

“For goodness’ sake, Jim, go easy there,” remon- 
strated Sumner. “ You’ll wake everybody up.” 

“I fear me much, my young friend,” added the 
other outsider, as he peered into the henhouse, 
“ that this unseemly outcry will disturb the slumbers 
of the household.” 

There was a remark from Jim inside that sounded 
a good deal like “Hang the household!” but it was 
lost in the excitement. 

The hen was presently secured, and her remon- 
strances muffled by placing her in a meal bag. The 
trio left the henhouse, and screening themselves 
from chance observation from the house, reached the 
beach unmolested, not even the suspicions of Tacks 
being aroused. 


354 


A HUNT FOR TREASURE 


355 


The moon was unobscured, so there was little 
difficulty encountered in getting the tender into the 
water, and out through the surf. Presently the com- 
pany was afloat, and rowing eastward ; for this was 
the expedition formed to go to Stone Horse Island 
and search for Captain Kidd’s treasure, in accord- 
ance with Jim Hilton’s thrice-dreamt dream. 

After the unsuccessful outcome of their pursuit of 
Jones, nothing more had been seen or heard of that 
individual. Painting had been resumed, and car- 
ried on uninterruptedly for the remainder of the day; 
and though Sumner looked on this escapade as no 
end of a lark, and Jim regarded it as a bona fide 
search for fortune, yet the excitement of the moment 
could not wholly suffice to drive away the drowsiness 
that beset them, and forced them to admit they were 
tired. 

As for the Professor, he had not wielded a paint- 
brush all day, and was as fresh as a June morning. 
He sat in the stern while the boys each pulled an oar, 
and quoted verses to the moon, shining full in his 
face, apparently oblivious of the fact that he was a 
treasure seeker. 

“I hope he’ll use his share of the boodle to get 
those whiskers shaved off,” whispered Sumner, 
irreverently, as he noticed the rapt expression on the 
Professor’s face, which was rendered grotesque by 
the rough fringe of hair about his chin. 

“No,” returned Jim, with a chuckle, “he’s going 
to found an orphan asylum for red-headed babies.” 


356 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


“My young friends,” interposed the Professor, 
who was not in so deep a revery as his companions had 
supposed, “I shall neither shave off my whiskers 
nor found an orphan asylum for red-headed babies 
with my portion of the treasure which we are about 
to obtain. 

“I shall devote my portion to the development of 
the Strodderian Idea, the Inexplicability of Taste 
and Smell,” went on the Professor, with deep grav- 
ity, his temper unruffled by the remarks of his 
companions. 

“ Stand from under,” whispered Jim. “The 
Professor is going to ride his hobby.” 

“For instance,” continued Professor Strodder, 
warming up to his subject, “do you know how oyster 
stew tastes?” 

The boys replied in the affirmative. 

“How do you know?” 

“Because we have eaten it,” was the reply. 

“Ah, there’s just the point,” was the triumphant 
response. “You know the taste because you have 
tasted it ; but the time will come when it will be pos- 
sible for you to know accurately the taste and smell 
of things unknown to you simply by descriptive 
words. 

“When,” the Professor continued, “I have evolved 
a phrase which shall exactly describe the distinctive 
taste and smell of oyster stew, in terms a baby might 
fathom, the world will receive an invaluable boon, 
and I undying fame.” 


A HUNT FOR TREASURE 


357 


“Here we are,” announced Sumner, at this junc- 
ture, shutting off Professor Strodder from any fur- 
ther performance on his hobby. Stone Horse Island 
loomed up directly ahead, the huge mass of stone 
that resembled a horse rising darkly against the 
sky. 

“We mustn’t land till nearly twelve,” announced 
Jim, authoritatively, as he pulled out his watch. 
“But it’s quarter of now,” he added, “so we might 
as well go ashore.” 

The landing was made on a pebbly beach without 
further ado. Nothing had been brought but the 
hen in the meal bag and a shovel. The moon, fast 
nearing the full, looked down serenely on the island 
and the heaving sea. Now that the moment had 
come to put the dream to a test, every one felt excited 
and nervous — Jim excited at the prospect of a for- 
tune almost in his grasp; the Professor elated that 
soon he should have the means to develop to the 
uttermost his “Strodderian Idea”; while Sumner, 
though pooh-poohing in his heart the whole under- 
taking, could not fail to be infected by the enthu- 
siasm of his companions, or influenced by the 
uncanniness of the hour. 

Sumner landed first. There was no surf worth 
mentioning on that side of the island, so the boat 
was run easily up on the shingle, and he stepped 
almost directly upon dry land. Next came Jim 
with the bag; then the Professor with the shovel. 

And now arrived the grand moment for releasing 


358 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


the hen. Cautiously Jim untied the string from the 
mouth of the bag. He shook the bag gently. The 
hen refused to appear. 

“Come out of there, old lady,” he exclaimed, 
inverting the bag. 

And the “old lady” did come out. Plump on 
the sand fell the hen, toppling over on her side from 
drowsiness, but quickly recovering her equilibrium. 
She gazed about for a few moments in wild-eyed 
wonder, while the three treasure seekers waited 
breathlessly for her to start. 

“At last,” muttered Jim, in a whisper, as though 
a loud word might break a charm, “this is the 
moment of which I have dreamed.” 

“Isn’t she ever going to start?” queried Sumner, 
after a full minute had passed, and the hen had not 
stirred from her position. “It’ll be twelve o’clock 
before she locates the place if she doesn’t get a gait 
on soon.” 

He now spoke as though he fully believed the 
dream would be fulfilled. 

But now the hen started. Professor Strodder, 
dim of vision, had pressed forward too closely in 
his eagerness to watch her movements. He stumbled 
and fell, and in another moment would have flat- 
tened the hen beneath him, had not the creature 
seized that instant for her departure. 

Thoroughly aroused, and frightened nearly out 
of her feeble wits, the hen gave a loud “cackle — 
cackle — squawk — squawk — squawk,” and half 


A HUNT FOR TREASURE 


359 


ran, half flew up the island slope, vanishing in the 
dimness before the startled treasure seekers fully 
realized she had started. 

“ Follow her up! Follow her up!” said Jim, ex- 
citedly; but his admonitions were needless, for both 
Sumner and the Professor were using their best 
endeavors to overtake the fowl. 

But at the end of ten minutes the trio had trav- 
ersed the island pretty thoroughly without discover- 
ing a sign of the missing hen; Sumner, who had 
again lost faith in the expedition, and once more 
regarded it as a huge joke, now and then going into 
peals of laughter at the absurdity of the situation 
and the glimpses he obtained of Professor Strodder’s 
canvas-clothed legs performing miraculous antics 
in the moonlight, as their owner eagerly attempted 
to bring the search to a successful issue. 

“Well, what are you going to do?” asked Sumner, 
when they all presently met on the moonlit side of 
the stone horse. “It’s twelve now.” 

“Don’t tell me that,” retorted Jim, ungraciously, 
and in a thoroughly disgusted tone. “If Professor 
Strodder had only minded his business, and not 
fallen down on the hen, we might be somewhere by 
this time. I’ll bet you,” he continued earnestly, 
“that old hen is squatting now exactly on the place 
where the treasure is buried; but she was scared 
and went so darned quick that we couldn’t keep 
up with her.” 

“You must pardon the infirmities of age,” the 


360 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


Professor said gently. “My eyesight is but poor, 
and my footing not the best. But remember, my 
young friend, that had I not fallen, the hen might 
not have started at all.” 

“Do you propose to hunt farther, or go home?” 
asked Sumner, who began to think the joke had gone 
far enough. 

“We might as well go, I suppose,” Jim admitted 
in a crestfallen voice, “but let’s make just one more 
good search before we do so. Let’s go back to the 
boat and start from there again.” 

This proposition being acceded to, the trio 
returned to the water’s edge. 

“Didn’t we come ashore here?” Jim asked, look- 
ing about vainly for the tender in the uncertain light, 
for the moon had gone under a cloud. 

“So we did. Here’s our tracks,” said Sumner. 
“But where in the world is the boat?” 

“Great Scott, it’s gone!” And such was the fact. 

It now occurred to them that in the excitement of 
disembarking and the beginning of the hunt for treas- 
ure they had totally forgotten to secure the tender, 
it having been left just as it grounded. The rising 
tide had borne it away, and a careful scrutiny of the 
sea showed it drifting toward Cod Island, some 
distance from shore. 

“What a set of double digested idiots we are!” 
exclaimed Jim, in disgust. 

“Maybe so,” was Sumner’s response. “Anyhow, 
we’re bound to stay here all night, all right.” 


A HUNT FOR TREASURE 


361 


“ Impossible to stay here all night,” spoke up the 
Professor, decidedly. “Why, my young friends, my 
limbs are already shivering with the chill that pierces 
my habiliments,” and his teeth fairly chattered as 
he talked. A chill wind from off the water, which 
in the excitement of the pursuit had not been noticed, 
penetrated their light clothing keenly now that their 
blood was beginning to cool. 

“You’re bound to stay here, unless you swim for 
it,” was Jim’s rather curt retort. “If you had only 
tied the boat,” he went on, “for you were the last 
one out of her, we wouldn’t have been caught in this 
scrape.” 

Which remark goes to show that when one makes a 
failure of a cherished project, he is quick to seek some 
one or something else on which to fasten the blame. 

For the balance of the night the three treasure 
seekers huddled about a driftwood fire, which after 
some effort they coaxed to burn in the lee of the 
stone horse; and presently all fell asleep under the 
influence of the grateful warmth. 

Brightly the sun shone the next morning when 
the three regained consciousness. They awoke 
almost simultaneously, and the first thing they 
heard was the loud cackling of a hen. 

“ Cut-cut-cut-cut-cudahcut ! Cut-cut-cut-cut-cud- 
ahcut!” 

The sound appeared to come from the other side 
of the big boulder. 

“Crickets!” exclaimed Sumner, when he had 


362 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


waked sufficiently to take in the situation. “Now 
we don’t want her, that old hen has bobbed up as 
serenely as you please.” 

“Go shy a stone at her,” Jim sleepily rejoined. 
“I’m not half slept up yet.” 

Sumner walked around the stone horse. The 
hen was strutting to and fro on the other side, cack- 
ling vigorously. A moment later Sumner returned 
to his companions. 

“ What do you think ? ” he cried. “ That ridiculous 
hen has actually laid an egg.” 

“Where?” Jim started up, his sleepiness dissi- 
pated. 

“Right on the other side of this rock.” 

“Just as I expected.” This unlooked-for remark 
came from the Professor, who now arose to his feet, 
rubbing his eyes. “My young friends, I too have 
had a dream.” 

“Oh, go on,” was Sumner’s rather ungracious 
response. 

“Out with it,” demanded Jim. 

“I dreamed that the hen had laid an egg,” the 
Professor announced, with due impressiveness. “We 
dug at the spot where the egg was laid and found the 
treasure.” 

At this announcement all hurried around the 
rock to view the hen and the scene, of her industry. 
The grass grew close up to the side of the boulder, 
and there in a snug nook lay the egg, while its pro- 
ducer strutted proudly about near by. 


A HUNT FOR TREASURE 


363 


The Professor brought the shovel around with 
him, for he, at least, had confidence in his dream. 
Having laid the egg aside, he vigorously attacked 
the sod; and as he worked, his companions, eager 
in spite of themselves, watched closely. When at 
length Professor Strodder, perspiring freely from the 
unwonted exercise, was forced to desist, Jim was 
ready to take the shovel; and finally Sumner took 
his turn at the excavation. 

At the end of half an hour’s hard work, during 
which time a hole had been cut through the stout 
grass roots, and perhaps three feet into the sand 
beneath, the shovel struck a hard substance. 

“Pve hit something,” announced Sumner, breath- 
lessly. 

A few more strokes revealed a small iron-bound 
keg. 


CHAPTER XXXVII 


AN UNWELCOME VISITOR 

“I told you so,” remarked Professor Strodder, 
with a trace of excitement in his usually impassive 
tones. 

The keg had been pulled from its resting-place 
in the sand, and Jim was now eagerly attacking it 
with the shovel. 

“ Mighty light weight for a treasure keg, I call it,” 
said Sumner, dubiously. “ Though perhaps it’s 
stuffed with greenbacks,” he added facetiously. 

“Fudge!” Jim rejoined, “guess they didn’t have 
greenbacks in Kidd’s time, did they?” 

“If so,” interposed the Professor, with an air of 
profound learning, “I fear they would not be legal 
tender now.” 

The shovel presently crushed in the top of the keg, 
and every one knelt down to look inside. 

There was no heap of tarnished silver, and glitter- 
ing gold, stamped with strange characters of an 
ancient mintage. In fact, at first there did not 
appear to be anything in the keg; but Jim finally 
brought out a small metal box, or can, about six 
inches long, and perhaps three in diameter, securely 
sealed up. It was, as the reader will recognize, the 

364 



“‘l’VE GOT YOU, THE WHOLE CROWD OF YOU. BY JING, 
THIS IS MY INNINGS ! ’ ” 







AN UNWELCOME VISITOR 


365 


exact counterpart of the can Val Brandon had found 
on Tower Island. 

“Our fortune grows smaller,” said Sumner, with 
a brief laugh. 

A few blows of the shovel forced the can open, 
and from its interior Jim drew a sheet of parchment, 
covered with odd characters. At the top was the 
figure of a triangle, and at each of its corners respec- 
tively, was drawn a horse, a tower, and a fish, as in 
the one Val had found. The characters beneath 
this figure were similar in their appearance to those 
on VaPs find. 

“HI bet a thousand dollars this is the key to the 
treasure!’’ exclaimed Jim, trembling with excite- 
ment, as he passed the parchment to Sumner for 
his scrutiny. The Professor crowded up eagerly to 
gaze over Sum’s shoulder, but vouchsafed no opinion, 
despite his elation. His dream, at any rate, had 
amounted to something. 

“I’ve got you, the whole crowd of you. By jing, 
this is my innings!” 

This unexpected remark, uttered in a loud tone close 
at hand, caused the three treasure seekers to turn 
instantly. Jones was standing a few paces distant, 
holding a leveled revolver in his hand. Behind him, 
a little offshore, was the “Spitfire” at anchor, and 
on the beach below was the tender, which he had 
very evidently picked up. 

“To avoid complications, you might as well hold 
up the sky for a few minutes,” continued the ruf- 


366 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


flan, thoroughly enjoying the consternation he was 
causing. 

“What does this unseemly conduct mean?” 
inquired the Professor, in some trepidation, uncertain 
as to the meaning of Jones’ order. 

“It means hold up your hands, you red-headed 
popogee,” retorted Jones, gruffly. “And you, 
Parker, hand over that paper you’ve got in your 
hands. I want you .” 

Sumner had been endeavoring to sly the parchment 
into his pocket, but was unable to elude the watch- 
fulness of the newcomer. He saw the uselessness 
of resistance, and grudgingly complied. Jones 
glanced curiously at the characters on the parch- 
ment, and thrust it hastily into a pocket. 

“What are you going to do with us?” queried 
the Professor, when the parchment had been passed 
over, amid the smothered execrations of all three of 
the prisoners. Despite his rising passion, he took 
good care to hold his hands aloft — so high, in fact, 
that his baggy duck trousers backed off bravely 
from his ankles. 

“I’m not going to do anything with you ,” was the 
retort, “and though I’d like to fix that young fellow 
that threw the paint on me, I’ll have to let him go, 
for lack of time. 

“Come, Parker, I’m after you. You come along 
with me, or there’ll be trouble.” 

Fifteen minutes later Sumner was again a prisoner 
on board the “Spitfire,” which Jones quickly got 


AN UNWELCOME VISITOR 


367 


under way toward the east. Jim Hilton and Pro- 
fessor Strodder, left so abruptly on Stone Horse 
Island, watched the yacht grow smaller and smaller 
till it finally disappeared entirely, and then wondered 
where in the world they would get breakfast, and 
how in the world they would get back to Codville. 
However, I will simply say that they, with the hen, 
were taken off late that afternoon by the tug “ Storm 
King,” and put ashore on Cod Island, little the worse 
for their adventure, but with wounded spirits and 
enormous appetites, the hen’s egg having been their 
sole sustenance during " their enforced isolation. 

It was a disconsolate young fellow who rendered 
obedience to Jones’ commands during the next two 
days. If ever Sumner realized what it was to be 
under the thumb of another, it was then. At times 
moving swiftly ahead under the influence of fresh 
breezes, and again rolling lazily in a calm, the yacht 
gradually worked her way eastward. Whatever 
came, Sumner was constantly under the surveillance 
of his captor. He got the meals, he tended the jib- 
sheets, he steered while Jones ate; and when, from 
sheer weariness, that person found it necessary to 
take a nap — though never for very long at a time, 
and then only when it fell calm — Sumner was tied 
in such a fashion to Jones’ wrist that any particular 
movement on his part would certainly arouse the 
sleeper. 

During this interval Jones made a few alterations 
about the yacht, but the principal one was changing 


368 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


her name. The brass letters forming the word 
“Spitfire” on her stern were unscrewed, enough of 
them replaced to form the name “Sprite,” and the 
remaining two thrown overboard. 

The taffrail log was kept going all the time the 
yacht had steerage way, and often Jones consulted 
the charts with which the “Spitfire” was equipped; 
but to all of Sumner’s inquiries regarding their desti- 
nation he turned a deaf ear. 

Now and then a vessel came in sight, but Jones 
always did his best to avoid them without making 
his action noticeable, and whenever any craft came 
dangerously near — so near, in fact, that there was 
possibility of the yacht being hailed — he locked 
Sumner in the cabin. 

So matters went along until Monday afternoon 
arrived. Soon after dinner a small blotch appeared 
on the eastern horizon, which resolved itself rapidly 
into an island as they drew closer. But now fell 
another dead calm. Idly the sails flapped as the 
yacht rolled to and fro on the even swell. Sumner, 
laying meditatively at the heel of the bowsprit, 
beneath the swaying jib, gazed at the spot of land 
ahead, and wondered if that was Jones’ destination. 

His eyes also caught sight of an object nearer at 
hand. It looked like a can bobbing in the water 
not a cable’s length away, and lazily he speculated 
upon it. Where had it come from? What vessel 
might it not have fallen from? From what distant 
shore might it not have drifted ? 


AN UNWELCOME VISITOR 


369 


A catspaw forced the yacht slightly ahead, and 
almost before he realized his action, he had swung 
down over the bow and picked the can from the water. 
It had a screw cap, which he removed, and a moment 
later Sumner was in possession of one of the messages 
that Val had confided to the sea two days previously. 
Who will attempt to describe the surprise and conster- 
nation that assailed the young fellow as he perused this 
brief statement regarding the situation of his mates. 

‘ ‘ Lugged off ! ” he muttered incredulously. ‘ ■ Held 
by a gang of thieves! And there I thought they were 
safe at home, while they, perhaps, think I’m safe 
there.” 

But now into the current of his cogitations broke 
the harsh voice of his captor. 

“Come aft here, and get under cover. There’s 
a steamer coming down on us.” 

Sumner leisurely obeyed. The steamer had stolen 
down on them from the north unperceived by Jones 
till she was close at hand. Her proximity made him 
nervous, and Sumner was so deliberate in his move- 
ments, and took so prolonged a stare at the approach- 
ing craft, that it roused the ruffian’s wrath. 

“Get into the cabin instanter,” he said, roughly 
seizing Sumner by the shoulder and forcing him 
down the companion. “And mind you,” he added, 
as his prisoner disappeared from view, and the door 
was closed after him, “in case we’re spoken by that 
craft and you so much as yip, I’ll put you where 
you’ll never see another boat.” 


370 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


He locked the door, and turned to watch the 
rapidly approaching vessel, his uneasiness illy dis- 
guised. She was very evidently running up to speak 
the yacht. There were several persons visible on 
her forward deck. 

“A tug,” growled Jones, and braced himself for 
the encounter. 

“ Halloo, the yacht!” came a hail from the tug’s 
deck, as she ran alongside the drifting sloop and 
stopped her engines. 


CHAPTER XXXVIII 


THE BEGINNING OF THE END 

The “Sea Rover” was ashore. 

Val Brandon and the deck hand quickly recovered 
from the confusion into which the sudden stoppage 
threw them, and hastily opening the port door, 
stepped on deck. They emerged into a bank of fog, 
so dense that it shut out the moon completely, and 
rendered objects a yard away invisible. 

For a moment they stood in hesitation. All about 
sounded the soft lap-lap of ripples lightly laving the 
shore, but forward all was still, till, of a sudden, 
came the sound of hurried footsteps descending from 
the wheel-house, and a body dropped over the side, 
as was evidenced by a loud splash in the water. 

Val and his companion walked cautiously toward 
the bow, peering intently through the thickness. 

“Look out for the engineer,” cautioned Fender- 
son, apprehensively. 

“I believe he’s gone ashore, or at least left the 
yacht,” was Val’s low response. 

The wheel-house proved to be deserted, as they 
expected; the lunatic was nowhere on board; but 
as they stood on the port bow the two heard the 
sound of splashing water, presently followed by a 

371 


372 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


crackling of twigs, as though some one was forcing 
a passage through underbrush. 

“ Better hail him?” asked Fenderson, after a 
minute of intent listening. 

“No,” Val responded forcefully. “Not on your 
life; good riddance.” 

The absence of the engineer being assured, they 
turned their attention to the condition of the yacht. 
She lay immovable, with a slight list to starboard, 
and somewhat down by the stern, but in what kind 
of a berth it was impossible to ascertain. The well, 
being sounded, showed the hull to be tight. 

“Take the wheel, Fenderson,” finally ordered 
Brandon. “We must make an attempt to start her 
off, dark as it is. It is about high tide now, and if 
we let her lay, she may sink deeper, and be still 
harder to get off on the next tide.” 

For the next ten minutes the propeller churned 
full speed astern, but without noticeable result, save 
that the powerful vibrations of the screw shook the 
yacht from stern to stem. 

The attempt to back off was then abandoned for 
the night, although with much regret, for the steamer 
might worm herself so snugly into her land berth that 
floating her later would be a toilsome task, if not, 
indeed, impossible without assistance. 

The chart made it quite evident that they had run 
ashore on Whale Island, an island about eight miles 
long by three wide, uninhabited, save for workmen 
at granite quarries on the northwestern extremity. 


THE BEGINNING OF TEIE END 373 


By the time this conclusion was reached, it was 
midnight. During the remainder of the night the 
two stood alternate watches of an hour each, for Val 
did not care to run the risk of having the lunatic 
engineer back in their midst. 

The fog lifted when morning broke. The “ Sea 
Rover ” lay stranded on a sandy beach at the head 
of a deep cove or indentation of the shore, some hun- 
dred yards in depth, and so closely did she lay under 
the high bank to port that one could almost jump 
ashore, even at high tide. Both sides of the cove were 
heavily wooded out to the very extremities of the two 
headlands that marked its entrance, where the ocean 
swell was rolling lazily in. 

The cove was not over a hundred feet wide at 
its broadest place, and now that the tide was out, 
which on this part of the seaboard falls about 
ten feet, the yacht was high and dry in its sandy 
cradle. 

“Well, I’ll be jiggered!” was Val’s first exclama- 
tion, as he emerged from the cabin soon after day- 
break, and took in the situation. “You don’t tell 
me that we ran into this inlet without hitting either 
point, in the dark, and with a loony at the wheel! 
I can hardly believe it.” 

“That’s what we did,” rejoined Fenderson, with 
a grin; “and she couldn’t have struck in a better place 
for gettin’ her off, seein’ she was to run ashore.” 

“Go and turn in,” Val admonished. “Get your 
hour’s sleep, and then we’ll see what we can do 


374 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


toward getting her afloat. I don’t believe it will 
be a very hard job after all.” 

“Dead easy,” was the reply, for Fenderson had 
evidently been studying the situation. “Just lead 
two hawsers out astern from the steam windlass, and 
make ’em fast to the trees, one on each bank. Then 
if the old girl can’t shake herself free on high tide 
with the screw and capstan too, call me Mud!” 

The feasibility of this plan seemed evident. There 
were plenty of good-sized trees on either shore to 
give the hawsers firm anchorage, and the more the 
plan was discussed, the more both became enthused 
over it, until finally the deck hand flatly refused to 
turn in again. A hastily prepared breakfast was 
as hastily disposed of, and they began operations. 

There was plenty of hemp roding below decks, 
and this was gotten up at once. Two lines were led 
aft from the capstan, one on either side, passed out 
through hawse holes near the stern, and made fast, 
each to a tree on opposite sides of the cove, some 
distance astern. 

When this had been accomplished after a deal of 
pulling and tugging, the slack was carefully taken 
up on both lines, so that when the moment came to 
make the second attempt, the strain on both hawsers 
would be as nearly equal as possible. 

During the hours that now elapsed before high 
tide came again, a search was instituted for the en- 
gineer, one remaining on the yacht while the other 
went ashore. But no trace of Marshall was dis- 


THE BEGINNING OF THE END 375 


covered. Either he had gone to another part of the 
island or had carefully concealed himself, for the 
short quest proved entirely unsuccessful. 

At half-past eleven, the time given by the nautical 
almanac for high tide, Val stationed himself at the 
engine and Fenderson at the capstan. The time 
had come for the second attempt at floating the 
“Sea Rover.” The safety-valve was blowing off 
as Val, in response to the deck hand’s assurance that 
everything was “all right,” opened the throttle until 
the yacht’s propeller was again churning up the 
water into froth under her overhang in a strong 
endeavor to back, and the hull shook with the ener- 
getic vibrations. 

Still not an inch did the yacht budge from her posi- 
tion. Val next opened the capstan valve. Slowly 
the hawsers tightened, like huge harp strings, keenly 
watched by the deck hand. Creak — creak — crack 
— crack! The tension of the lines in the hawse 
holes made the stern swing uneasily. 

But this could not last forever. Suddenly the 
hull yielded, and a moment later the yacht slid 
easily off the sand into deeper water, gaining speed 
with every revolution of the screw. Overjoyed at 
the success of the trial, Val promptly shut off all 
steam, and hurried to congratulate his companion; 
but scarcely had he put foot on deck when a series 
of determined toots on the whistle over his head 
made him start. 

“Look out to sea,” yelled the deck hand from the 


376 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


wheel-house, where he was clinging to the whistle 
cord. Val did so. Off the mouth of the cove was a 
tug, and as Val gazed, he saw puffs of steam rise 
from her whistle, and several answering blasts came to 
his ears. The stranger came about and headed for 
the cove. 

By this time the yacht had lost all backway, and 
lay quiescent on the gently heaving waters of the 
cove. Val ran to the stern and gazed eagerly at 
the tug in the offing. 

“What do you make of her?” he called to Fender- 
son, who had emerged from the wheel-house with 
the glass to his eyes. 

“ Storm King,” read the deck hand, aloud. “ She’s 
a Portland tug.” 

“Wonder what she’s doing here?” Val queried. 
“We’ve worked ourselves out of the woods, but 
perhaps they’ll lend us a man to help work the 
yacht.” 

Cautiously the approaching tug poked her nose 
into the cove. A group of people were in her bows. 

“Ahoy!” shouted Brandon, when the “Storm 
King” had gotten within hail. 

There was no direct reply to this hail, but of a 
sudden a general yell went up from the tug’s deck, 
and Val began to wonder if it was a lunatic asylum 
out for an excursion. 

Not long did he wonder. Straightway his eyes 
caught sight of faces that looked familiar. In sudden 
excitement he clung tightly to the rail. 


THE BEGINNING OF THE END 377 


“ Jerusalem !” he muttered, between set teeth, 
“can it be they?” 

And then as doubt gave way to certainty, he 
uttered a loud whoop of joy, and waved a hand in 
energetic welcome. 

“Halloo, folkses!” 

The “Storm King” slowly steamed into the cove 
and laid her nose against the stern of the “ Sea Rover.” 
Val clambered over the rail, and in an instant was 
literally received with open arms, for each of his 
waiting friends tried to seize the young skipper at 
the same time. 

Twenty minutes sufficed for V al to outline his story 
of how Cal and himself had been abducted, and for 
his friends to relate the misadventures of Sumner as 
far as known, including the fact that the young man 
was probably still in the clutches of Jones and aboard 
the “Spitfire.” 

VaPs story of the plot to defraud the Liberty 
Mutual and other insurance companies opened their 
eyes, but Manager Cul verson’ s most of all, and it was 
decided that the “ Sea Rover” should run to Rockland 
forthwith, to enable the Manager to wire his com- 
pany and stop payment on the policy. He was also 
to advise the Stroudport City Marshal of the at- 
tempted fraud, and have Wheelock and “Dr.” 
Pilsingham arrested immediately. Since Val did 
not know the names of the other companies in which 
Bangs was insured, Manager Culverson could ac- 
quaint only his own of the matter; but the arrest of 


378 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


the accomplices would effectually hold up all other 
payments. 

Fenderson did not come aboard the “Storm King” 
while this conversation was progressing, and there 
was much difference of opinion as to what should 
be done with him. Some thought he should be 
delivered to the authorities at once; others advised 
giving him his liberty. But Fenderson settled mat- 
ters himself by taking French leave, and when looked 
for, was nowhere to be found. 

Mate Jenkins of the “Storm King” was put in 
command of the “Rover,” and the assistant engineer 
and one deck hand made up the rest of the crew, 
Manager Culverson being sole passenger. The 
yacht was to run at once to Rockland, obtain a 
sheriff, coal up, and when the Manager’s dispatches 
were sent, return to Tower Island, whither the 
“Storm King” was to go immediately, carrying the 
remainder of the party. 

After Cal had been released from his unpleasant 
situation, the search for Sumner was to be renewed 
by both steamers. 

The wood supply on the “Rover” having run very 
low, sufficient coal to run her to Rockland was placed 
aboard from the “Storm King’s” bunkers. Then 
the two craft backed out of the cove, and steamed 
away on their respective errands. 

Inasmuch as Val believed that when Major Bangs 
found the yacht gone he would attempt to leave the 
island, it was most important that Cal’s rescuers 


THE BEGINNING OF THE END 379 


should reach the scene at the earliest possible moment. 
Though he had no boat, and the raft was aboard 
the “Rover,” yet Bangs might contrive a raft, or a 
passing vessel might take off his party. To prevent 
anything of this sort, and render success sure, for 
the next two hours the tug raced along at full speed. 

And then came a surprise. 


CHAPTER XXXIX 


THE “STORM KING” ENCOUNTERS THE “SPRITE” 

The light breeze died down to nothing, and the 
“Storm King” plowed her way toward Tower 
Island over a sea of glass. 

Shortly after three o’clock in the afternoon a dark 
mass appeared on the horizon ahead, and Val, stand- 
ing in the wheel-house with the Captain’s binocular 
in hand, identified it as the island from which he had 
so recently escaped. It rapidly emerged from ob- 
scurity as they approached, and Val intently scruti- 
nized the sea about it for evidences of Bangs and his 
party. No signs of a raft were visible, but down to 
the southward was a sail. This might mean Bangs 
escaping, or Sumner on the “Spitfire,” so the tug 
changed her course to run over and investigate, 
while all the passengers congregated forward to 
watch proceedings. 

The tug soon closed in on the sailboat, so that 
without the aid of the glass she was seen to be a 
small yacht, becalmed, with all sails set. 

“By jolly!” murmured Val, as presently he took 
another look through the glass. No one heard him, 
and he said no more, but kept his eyes glued on the 

380 


STORM KING” AND THE “SPRITE” 381 


object of curiosity. A few minutes later he obtained 
possession of the glass again, and made further inves- 
tigations. 

“What is she, Val?” his father asked, coming to 
the bow where his son stood. 

The reply was startling, though uttered in low and 
suppressed tones. 

“I believe she is the ‘Spitfire.’” 

This declaration created a marked sensation. 
Was this day to see the end of all their worry and 
trouble ? 

“She’s painted white, like my yacht. Her sails 
are identical in cut and set. Now as she swings round 
her trunk shows the same height above the deck. 
She is the ‘ Spitfire,’ or her double.” 

“Give me the glass a minute,” demanded Mr. 
Parker. “Can you see any one on board?” 

Sumner’s father put the binocular to his eyes, and 
after some effort got the distant craft into the field of 
vision. 

“What is your boat’s name?” he inquired, after 
a minute’s prolonged stare; but without waiting for 
a reply, he began spelling slowly the letters he descried 
on the stern of the yacht. 

“S — ” he began. “Her name begins with S, any- 
way. P — ” he continued. 

By this time every one wanted to take the glass, 
and Mr. Parker had a hard time to retain it and 
keep the yacht in the objective at the same time. 
But now they were so near that it was possible to 


382 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


distinguish objects aboard the sailboat with the 
naked eye. Old Captain Bucklin, who from the 
wheel-house had been watching both the sailboat and 
the group on the deck below him with about equal 
interest and amusement, now sang out: — 

“ She’s got two men aboard.” 

“Let me take the glass, Parker,” insisted Mr. 
Brandon, “my eyesight may be better than yours.” 

Reluctantly Mr. Parker relinquished the instru- 
ment, and Val’s father undertook in turn to get 
the yacht in range, just as the Captain who, from 
his superior height, had a somewhat better view, 
exclaimed: — 

“One fellow is driving the other into the cabin.” 

Curiosity was now at fever heat. Mr. Brandon had 
gotten the yacht in range. 

“Yes,” he corroborated, “he has shut him into 
the cabin, and is locking the door.” 

“Can you make out her name, father?” 

“S — P — ” began Mr. Brandon, hesitatingly. 
“R — ” he continued. 

“No, I,” corrected his son. 

“It is R,” asseverated the father, decidedly. 
“S-P-R-I-T-E,” he finally announced. 

A chill fell on the group. 

“Then it is not the ‘Spitfire,’” said Mr. Parker, 
in a tone of gloom. 

“Then it’s her double,” Val declared stoutly. 

Meanwhile the tug drove ahead, and in five minutes 
was near enough to hail the sailboat. A frowsy 


“STORM KING” AND THE “SPRITE” 383 


looking man stood in the cockpit, apprehensively 
awaiting his visitors. 

“Halloo, the yacht!” called Val, leaning over the 
rail as the “Storm King” stopped close alongside. 
“What boat is that?” 

“Sloop-yacht ‘Sprite’ from Boston, bound east 
on a cruise,” was the ready response. 

But Val’s keen eyes were taking in the unkempt 
fellow in the cockpit, and every detail of the yacht. 
Surely he had seen that face before, and such a nose 
he had never seen upon more than one face. He 
whispered a few words to the group about him, and 
then spoke energetically. 

“7 know you , Jones. Surrender, you scoundrel, 
and do it quickly. You’ve got to the end of your 
rope.” 

The gleam of the deck hand’s revolver flashed in 
Val’s hand. 

And Jones gave in. There was no help for it. 
And as this crisis was reached, and for a moment 
Jones stood speechless with wrath, the skylight on 
the sloop’s cabin was suddenly lifted, and a well- 
known head appeared. 

“Hooray! Hooray! Shoot the daylights out of 
him, old man. He deserves it, if ever a fellow 
did!” 

In a few minutes Jones was a secure prisoner 
aboard the tug, and Sumner was recounting his 
adventures to an appreciative audience, while the 
“Storm King” pushed toward Tower Island with 


384 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


the yacht in tow. In half an hour the harbor en- 
trance was reached, and after running as far up the 
bay as her skipper dared, the tug came to anchor. 

Scarcely had a rowboat dropped into the water 
alongside, and nearly the entire party, armed to the 
teeth, prepared to go ashore, when a young man 
appeared on the beach, and a call came ringing over 
the waters. 

“ Glory!” said Val, catching sight of the figure. 
“There is Cal Morse, as sure as I live!” 

And such was the fact. 

You may be sure that when the boat reached shore, 
just as hearty a reception was given Cal, as Sumner 
and Val had received; and a surprise was in store 
for the would-be rescuers, for Cal assured them that 
Bangs, Bruce, and Mike were all at the house, his 
prisoners. It appeared that the pocket file secured 
by Val from the engineer and given him, was entirely 
unequal to the task of filing the tempered steel of 
which the handcuffs and chain were made. It was 
of soft iron, and better adapted to smoothing finger 
nails. After wasting a deal of time in finding this 
out, Cal finally succeeded in abstracting the key 
from Bangs’ pocket on the very night of Val’s 
departure on the yacht. 

“All three of them had been getting convivial that 
night,” explained Cal, in the course of his story, as 
the party hastened to the mansion. “I had no 
trouble in freeing myself, and also got Bangs’ re- 
volver from his pocket. Before that individual 


“ STORM KING” AND THE “SPRITE” 385 

knew what had struck him, half stupefied as he was 
with liquor, I had the handcuffs on his ankles and 
his hands tied tightly behind him. 

“Bruce and Mike were snoozing downstairs, and 
with the revolver for a persuader I had little trouble 
in securing them, and if you had only waited a little 
while longer, Val,” he added, turning affectionately 
to his chum, “I would have gone with you on the 
‘Sea Rover,’ and we could have taken the prisoners 
with us.” 

The prisoners were found silent, sullen, and secure. 
They would make no response to any questions put 
them, and when their feet were released and they 
were ordered to march to the shore, did so v/ith great 
reluctance. 

The fortune that Bangs and his accomplices had 
schemed to obtain by fraud had vanished like morn- 
ing mist, and with prison staring them in the face, 
little wonder it was they did not feel in the best of 
spirits. When they had been placed safely aboard 
the tug, and under espionage, Val and Cal conducted 
their friends over the island that had been their prison 
for a week, and the subterranean passage and the 
stone tower, as well as the old mansion, were 
inspected with deep interest. 

They did not trouble to remove the canned pro- 
visions Val had stored in the underground retreat; 
but one thing the young skipper did carry away, and 
now exhibits with much pride as a souvenir of his 
experiences — the old pirate flag. 


386 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


The party spent the night aboard the anchored 
tug; and day was just breaking when the “ Storm 
King” steamed out of the crescent-shaped harbor, 
and met the “Rover” just outside with the original 
party and a sheriff and his posse aboard, for whom, 
however, there was now little need. 

Two days later both steamers, one having the 
“Spitfire” in tow, ran up to Stevens’ Wharf inStroud- 
port, and a happy party it was that stepped ashore 
to greet three ladies standing on the pier head. For 
word had been sent on from Rockland of the success- 
ful outcome of the search, and the probable time of 
arrival at home. 

The story of the interrupted cruise is nearly told. 
The “Spitfire,” alias the “Sprite,” although bruised 
by her rough passage through the storm, and de- 
cidedly dirty from lack of proper care, was none the 
worse for her erratic cruise; but after their recent 
experiences the boys decided that home was good 
enough for the present, and the remainder of their 
vacation was spent there, every pleasant day find- 
ing them afloat in some part of the bay. 

Bangs, Bruce, Wheelock, Dr. Pilsingham, and 
Mike, all came up for trial at the September term 
of court, and were sentenced to State’s prison for 
various terms of years. It developed that Pilsing- 
ham’s claims to the title of “Doctor” were exceed- 
ingly slim, while the Major’s story of his connection 
with western flouring mills was made up out of whole 
cloth. A search was made on Whale Island for 


“STORM KING” AND THE “SPRITE” 387 

Fenderson and Marshall, but nothing came of it; 
and the whereabouts of the lunatic as well as the 
deck hand still remains a conundrum. 

Despite Jones’ strong avowals that he had thrown 
the document away, his person was thoroughly 
searched for the parchment which had been dug up 
on Stone Horse Island under circumstances so 
remarkable. It was not found, however, and the 
boys were forced, much against their will, to believe 
that the thief, ignorant of its value, had actually 
disposed of it as he asserted. 

A deal of brain power was expended on Val’s 
document, from time to time, in an effort to extort 
the secret it was supposed to conceal, and Jim Hilton, 
who stopped off at Stroudport with his sister en route 
for Burlington, at the end of his vacation, bringing 
Sum’s pocket kodak and developing outfit, obtained 
and carried home with him a copy of the document 
to study during his leisure moments. He promised 
faithfully to report any progress he might make in 
deciphering it, but thus far has reported no success. 

The half-cremated remains found in the ruins of 
the Pod Island cabin were finally identified by a 
fracture of the skull and other unmistakable marks, 
as those of a recently deceased Stroudport citizen, 
despite Bangs’ effort to palm them off as his own; 
and by a chain of circumstantial evidence, which the 
testimony of Val and Cal strengthened not a little, 
the police finally secured the person who removed 
this “evergreen plant” from the cemetery named 


388 


ON TOWER ISLAND 


“Evergreen,” and he was tried and sentenced for 
body-snatching. 

What to do with the “Petrel/’ alias the “Sea 
Rover,” puzzled the authorities for some days. 
None of the prisoners would say a word regarding 
the matter, and no papers were found aboard the 
yacht to indicate her ownership. But as soon as the 
story got into the newspapers a claim was put in by 
Boston parties, and it developed that Major Bangs 
had leased her for the summer. She eventually went 
back to her owners. 

The life insurance companies, who, through the 
efforts of the crew of the “Spitfire,” were saved from 
paying thousands of dollars in settlement of fraudu- 
lent claims, thoroughly appreciated the part that 
Val, Cal, and Sum had taken in the affair, and 
remembered them quite handsomely. But the one 
souvenir of the trip that Sumner values most highly 
is the letter he sent Captain Bucklin by carrier- 
pigeon. This, surrounded by the little kodak pic- 
tures that played so important a part in his rescue, 
he has had framed ; and hanging in a conspicuous 
place in his private room, it never fails to remind 
him of the time he went on “An Interrupted Cruise.” 


THE END 



























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